


an eye for an eye

by piyo_nii



Series: an inescapable type of misfortune [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Nen, Attempt at Humor, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Everyone Is Alive, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, References to Canon, Reincarnation, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-05-05 16:29:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14622614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piyo_nii/pseuds/piyo_nii
Summary: Chrollo blinked. "I just wanted to visit my friend. Tell me, Mr. Lawyer, is that a crime?""One, we're not friends," Kurapika growled, suddenly feeling as if he wouldn't have minded if he'd popped a major vein and died on the spot. "Two, there's this thing calledbreaking and entering, so yes, it is a crime!"Following a tip-off from Hisoka, Chrollo attempts to steal an autographed advanced copy of the childhood classic,D-Hunter. Breaking into some law student's apartment was supposed to be an easy, quick, in-and-out job. Too bad its owner isquitethe firecracker. Luckily, Chrollo is nothing if not persistent, and Kurapika is the most intriguing man he's ever met.(Or, Kurapika is an overworked 2L who babysits his neighbor's daughter on the weekends, and Chrollo's an annoyingly-attractive home invader who realizes he's not all that emotionally-deficient.)





	1. the worst of days

**Author's Note:**

> 6/4/18 - Tried to add an actual summary so that people can have a vague idea of where I'm going with this haha
> 
> 8/6/18 - Okay, so, I did a major overhaul of this fic's format! POV switches will be indicated with icons.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regardless of the outcome, Chrollo made it a point to make every decision in his life with confidence. It was just in his nature.

**☾**

Hisoka’s always been kind of an oddball. It wasn’t his borderline-pedophillic tendencies or unsettling masochism that Chrollo was referring to, either. Behind his unpredictable behavior and dangerous, downright predatory smile, there was a brilliant mind. Paired with his penchant for mischief, anything he did was usually a recipe for utter disaster.

Whenever  _that_  grin stretched upon his face – the one where his pupils dilated, and his lips curled like a lion about to pounce on his prey – the rest of the Phantom Troupe knew something was about to go down. Years of being on the streets had honed Chrollo’s instincts to a T, and right now they were ringing _danger, danger, danger, what is he plotting—_

But Chrollo was a man who willingly danced with peril on a daily basis, so no one was particularly surprised when he decided to humor Hisoka’s request. He was wary of the lunatic, yes, but besides the time where he’d almost landed them in the middle of an FBI investigation last summer, the redhead could be trusted, given that one could bribe his interests with some sort of reward.

The fact that Hisoka wasn’t asking for anything in return was worrisome in itself. Hisoka, who had left the gang stranded in the Secretary of State’s pool house because ‘every man for himself’ was apparently a thing the moment they were surrounded, was tipping him off out of the goodness of his heart.

Granted, they had escaped scot-free because the Spiders were nothing if not seasoned professionals, but still. Chrollo wasn’t the type to hold a grudge, yet he fervently believed he had a damn good reason to be cautious. If Hisoka thought this one act of kindness would automatically transform him into Mother Teresa, he had another thing coming.

“I have no reason to doubt your credibility, but you’re not building a very good case for yourself.” With the redhead, his intel was either creepily-accurate or complete bullshit. Chrollo’s hunch told him that this was genuine. Why that was, he still couldn’t tell – he’d have to be careful.

Hisoka hummed; the shit-eating smirk on his face doubled its size. “Words do hurt, you know,” he purred, and if Chrollo were a lesser man, he would have allowed the ice-cold shudder to run down his spine. “But I have very trustworthy sources, and I have nothing to gain from lying to you.”

“By ‘trustworthy sources’, I’m assuming you’re talking about that Zoldyck,” Chrollo deadpanned back, and the ominous glint in the redhead’s eyes told him he was right. If there was anyone in this world who could come anywhere close to Hisoka’s levels of fucked-up, it would, without a doubt, be Illumi. He hadn’t had the chance to interact with the mysterious man recently, but one look into his hollow, dead stare was enough to leave quite the first impression.

Well, that, and the fact that Illumi kept a plethora of family photos in his wallet, which he had shown Chrollo with much enthusiasm. The clear majority of them depicted a scowling, silver-haired youth in various candid shots. Those pictures were _clearly_ taken in secret, and if Hisoka had someone out there who completed him this wholly, maybe there really was a God after all.

Chrollo still hadn’t looked up from the tome in his hands. “Our targets consist of society’s elite, the best of the best. What makes you think I’m going to spare the effort to rob some college student’s dingy apartment?”

“Correction: law student, a second year at that,” Hisoka rebutted with a sing-song voice, finger wagging in the air. “And a cultured man like yourself should know that the most valuable treasures don’t always appear as gold and jewels.”

“Of course not, but it just so happens that gold and jewels are quite adept at reaping a profit,” Chrollo found himself answering as he flipped to the next page.

“I swear on my mother’s grave, you’re going to get a kick out of this one.” Chrollo bit back a laugh – perhaps he would have pitied the poor woman if he could bring himself to care.

Hisoka regarded the other man with a contemplative look. Chrollo could feel his amber eyes searching, analyzing his features keenly. It was definitely disconcerting, since that look was usually reserved for the things he _desired_. He wouldn’t put it past the redhead to have some sort of weird infatuation with him, but something about this stare was… different? Hisoka wasn’t sizing up his next meal; he was plotting something, gauging Chrollo’s reactions.

He interrupted the tense silence by narrowing his eyes. “Well?”

The redhead’s lips curled lasciviously. “My little birdie told me that _someone_ owns one of the few advanced copies of _‘D-Hunter’_ —”

“—The children’s book?” To be fair, it was wildly prolific in its heyday, but dupes were everywhere, and its current worth was a measly fifteen-thousand jenny, at best.

“Yes, the children’s book. But what makes this one _delicious_ ,” Hisoka enunciated with a rapacious swipe of his tongue, “is the fact that it’s the sole copy with an authentic autograph from the author, herself.”

“…I see.” Oh. _Oh_. Well, now, that was a game-changer. If it was truly the real deal, this authentic, autographed advanced copy could very well be the only one in existence. For a childhood classic like _‘D-Hunter’_ , there was surely a collector out there who would tear the earth to pieces for such a rare find.

Chrollo smiled inwardly. Maybe he might even keep it for himself. It would make an interesting statement piece in his personal library.

He chose to ignore Hisoka’s beaming grin; a clear sign that he was pleased by Chrollo’s response. “The occupant’s usually gone from five in the evening to two in the morning,” a rather smug Hisoka reported, and before Chrollo could dismiss him with his usual callous silence, he quickly added, “The window of opportunity’s rather large, so it should be easy pickings for you, _Boss._ ”

Said ‘Boss’ froze. The redhead had said something similar last year, when he, Bonolenov, and Phinks were scrambling to squeeze a 70-inch plasma HD TV through a dense hedge. Hisoka had conveniently forgotten to warn them about the swarm of police officers currently surrounding the premises, and before Phinks could get another word in, the bastard had the _balls_ to slip over the white picket fence, blowing a kiss to his shell-shocked accomplices. If Chrollo's hands hadn't been previously occupied, he would have grabbed the redhead’s foot and forced him to stay as bait.

 _“Should be a piece of cake, right, Boss?”_ He had said before retreating, and Chrollo vividly remembered the piss-poor mood he was in afterwards.

All of these clues lit up like a humongous neon sign that screamed, _‘Look! A trap!’_ , but Chrollo couldn’t shake off the deep-set curiosity that settled in his gut. If Hisoka, of all people, was suggesting a target, there _must_ be something spectacular about the item or its owner, not to mention it was strange that your average 2L would possess a book easily worth millions. It was quite possible they weren’t aware of its value, and that just made the job even simpler.

“…I’ll consider it,” he finally admitted after a minute. The narrow slits that were Hisoka’s eyes brimmed with glee, and Chrollo wondered if he was going to regret this.

He exhaled. Nope, that was impossible. Regardless of the outcome, Chrollo made it a point to make every decision in his life with confidence. It was just in his nature.

 

* * *

 

**✹**

With a cold quesadilla in one hand and a cup of coffee sandwiched between his elbow and chest, Kurapika cursed inwardly because he really had to use the bathroom, and _where the hell were his keys?_ He patted down his pockets frantically before he heard the muted jingle of metal, and within seconds, the blond had stormed into his apartment, making a beeline for the toilet.

He loved school. He loved learning, he loved reading. But days like today made Kurapika wonder if he was better off giving his professors a giant “fuck you” before retreating to the countryside to start a humble farm.

With cows, and chickens.

And not a _single_ privileged, perverted snob in sight.

As the blond washed his hands, he was immediately reminded of calloused, ice-cold fingers enveloping his own.

He cringed. What a _creep_. National recognition and award-winning papers be damned, Professor Hui Guo Rou was a deplorable man who probably ate rusty nails and children for breakfast. Beneath his pensive smiles and eloquent mannerisms, Kurapika was sure he was harboring some sort of deep, dark secret. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was involved with the mafia or some sort of human trafficking ring. The way he observed his students – like a zealous curator appreciating a work of art, or maybe a butcher deciding which cut of meat was best – was completely dehumanizing.

Kurapika had spent weeks on his review. He was a few cups short of resorting to a coffee-filled IV as his main source of caffeine, while the sheer number of court files and books on his desk had somehow totaled its bottom-left leg, forcing the poor piece of furniture to sit crookedly. But the moment he handed it in, he winced as his stomach dropped at the sight of Hui Guo Rou’s ravenous smile, and why was the man grabbing his hands instead of the paper—

Within that second, the hours spent on hundreds of footnotes and carefully thought-out research felt like it was all for naught. _“There’s no need to be so stiff,”_ Tserriednich had murmured almost too quietly, as if they weren’t the only two souls in the room and he was afraid of someone listening in. _“Has anyone ever told you how scrumptious you look when you’re afraid?”_

Okay, what the actual _fuck_?

Kurapika had jerked himself away from his grasp, and his throat burned with bile that threatened to spill if he didn’t get away _now_. Tserriednich’s touch was overly-familiar, too much. A subtle man, he was not – it was nearly impossible to ignore how his detached, calculating gaze raked over the blond’s figure—

He exhaled sharply. He was home now. He’s safe, it’s Friday, and he was not about to spend this time reimagining his encounter with the Devil himself.

Kurapika scarfed down the remnants of his lunch before peeling off his jeans and V-neck shirt. After shuffling through his drawer for a minute, he settled for a ratty pair of joggers and an old, worn Moomin tee, unapologetically throwing his previous outfit into the nearby laundry basket.

It felt odd to be home at this hour. Normally, he’d stumble in half-conscious at two-thirty in the morning, arms laden with textbooks and granola bars. If it wasn’t for Pairo’s insistence on having a video call that evening, chances are he’d still be holed up in the library reading and contemplating his life choices.

His laptop buzzed to life as he tapped on the mouse pad. No, library or not, Kurapika would still think about who he had pissed off in his past life, and how it was probably a king or a god because this turn of events was just cruel and unusual punishment. Maybe it wasn’t too late to invest in a plot of land somewhere in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

The call rang twice before his webcam popped up on the screen, and- damn, have his eyebags always been this bad? Next to his image, Pairo’s feed buffered for a moment before the loading bar quickly gave way to his beaming visage.

 _"Kurapika!”_ His cousin’s hair was mussed on one side, and judging by his sheepish grin, he had probably just propped himself up from his bed only moments before. _“It’s been so long! How are you?”_

Kurapika chucked good-heartedly, the day’s stress quickly melting off his shoulders. “It’s good to see you too, Pairo,” he replied, and for once, the small smile on his face didn’t feel like a fifty-pound weight. “And I’m feeling absolutely _fantastic_ , now that you’re here.”

The edges of the brunet’s lips drooped. _“Bad day, huh?”_

“You could say that.”

 _"It’s not your professor – the weird, creepy one – again, is it?”_   Pairo asked hesitantly, a deep-set frown on his face.

Chestnut brown bore into taupe, and although he was thousands of miles away, Kurapika could practically _feel_ the worry rolling off his cousin in waves. Contrary to Pairo’s sweet, gentle demeanor, the younger Kurta was actually staunchly protective of his loved ones. It didn’t take an experienced psychologist to see that he was struggling with a myriad of emotions, which probably ranged from utter disgust to disappointment.

The worst part was how he couldn’t discern if Pairo was disappointed in Tserriednich or his workaholic of a cousin. Kurapika hoped it was the former, but he knew the brunet well-enough to deduce that it was probably both.

The blond sighed as he leaned back into his pillows. “The one and only. But it’s fine. I’m fine,” he insisted, and Kurapika felt like kicking his own shins because it was painfully obvious he was trying to convince himself he was all right, too. Pairo raised his eyebrow skeptically. “The semester’s almost over, so I only need to put up with him for a couple more weeks.”

 _“Okay, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s a sicko who’s willing to break school protocol and, like, every common decency rule ever, just to get in your pants,”_ Pairo warns, and Kurapika almost chokes on his own saliva.

“That was unnecessary—”

 _“But it’s the truth!”_ The brunet crossed his arms and sent his flustered counterpart a disapproving glower. _“Let’s fast forward, okay? It’s winter break, and you think, ‘finally, he’s gone, I’m free!’ But then you remember that he’s tenured, and there’s nothing stopping him from stalking you the following spring.”_

Anyone who’s met him could easily tell that Kurapika wasn’t much of an optimist. He had considered the possibility, courtesy of his analytical (or as Leorio liked to say, “ _insufferably paranoid”_ ) mindset. But he was also banking on the chance that Tserriednich might lose interest over time, therefore avoiding any need to confront him or the administrative office. …So, yeah, it was kind of a long shot, and Kurapika couldn’t decide whether he should be thankful or offended that Pairo was willing to call him out on his shit so readily.

In the end, Kurapika sighed in exasperation. “It’s like patronizing me is your favorite hobby.”

 _“I do it because I love you,”_ Pairo echoed back sagely as he dramatically raised his hand over his heart, and Kurapika couldn't help but laugh.

 

* * *

 

**☾**

_“All right, Boss. I’ve got the cameras on an endless loop. Just give me the word, and I’ll change them back,”_   Shalnark’s voice declared animatedly through Chrollo’s earpiece.

Chrollo hummed. “Sounds good, Shal. Let us know if anyone comes our way.” 

_"Aye-aye, captain!"_

Behind him, Uvogin, Nobunaga, and Machi were on standby, patiently awaiting his orders. …Or rather, as patiently as they were physically capable of. Machi had taken to texting on her phone – possibly Pakunoda, if the speed of her fingers were any hint, while the two men were discussing the practicality of blades in a gun fight.

“Where’s the honor? The pride?” Uvogin had questioned the shorter man imploringly, fists curling and uncurling with – excitement? Bloodlust? Chrollo supposed they were one and the same, in his eyes.

Nobunaga scoffed. “There’s no pride in being dead, you idiot,” he bit back scathingly, but if the larger of the two took any offense, it didn’t show. If anything, Uvogin’s grin had grown even larger. Had any of them been in the mood for a neurotic Nobunaga, they would have pointed out the minuscule smile on his lips.

When Chrollo cleared his throat, the three Spiders immediately straightened up, eyes glinting with anticipation. They stood at full attention with the discipline of well-trained soldiers — with the exception of Machi, of course, who gave him a mock salute.

“Remember what I told you,” Chrollo began, face placid with the unshakable certainty of a man on a mission. “Act as casually as possible. If anyone looks at you suspiciously, do try your best to curb it.”

Uvogin deflated visibly at this. He had always fared better at jobs that required more _hands-on_ involvement, but the moment Chrollo had mentioned that tonight’s target was recommended by none other than Hisoka himself, he practically jumped at the opportunity to come along. And if Uvogin was there, Nobunaga’s involvement was practically inevitable. The rest of the Troupe sometimes wondered if they were secretly related. Machi was the only one he had asked, but unsurprisingly, she had exhibited the least amount of interest.

“I still think this is all completely unnecessary.” Machi’s piercing gaze eyed the complex, expression unreadable. “Four of us for a book? I daresay you’re afraid.”

Chrollo shrugged. “I already mentioned that you’re free to take whatever you fancy,” he chided lightly; Machi clicked her tongue. “But my only goal for tonight is the book. There’s either going to be a priceless piece of literature in that apartment, or a death trap.”

“Should I even bother asking you which one you'd prefer?” Machi asked suspiciously, crossing her arms. When Chrollo gave her an excited grin, it took nearly all of her willpower to stop her eyes from rolling to the back of her skull.

 

* * *

 

**✹**

 "…And when Bill went to the Dean’s office to report the incident, they told him they would begin an investigation,” Kurapika grumbled into his pillow. What he wouldn’t give to smother Tserriednich’s smug mug right now.

Pairo made a querying noise, soft features hardening with displeasure. _“I’m guessing they didn’t do anything about it, then?”_

“Nope. Nothing. When I asked, they just said that it’s up to the Board.” Honestly, if he didn’t run the risk of losing his scholarship, he would’ve given the Board a piece of his mind, and then some, by now. They were either complicit in Tserriednich’s perverse behavior, or they were really just that incompetent.

 _“I’m sorry, Kura. But if it helps, Auntie just sent a care package your way. It should be there in a few weeks.”_ Pairo gave his cousin the most dazzling _please-cheer-up-or-I’ll-be-sad_ smile, and Kurapika felt his heart melt a little.

“Thank—”

…What was that? Kurapika paused mid-sentence, causing Pairo to tilt his head curiously.

_"Kurapika? Everything okay over there?”_

The blond remained silent. Maybe he was going nuts, but he could have _sworn_ he heard shuffling near the front door. It was brief and nearly inaudible, but he heard it, and all of Kurapika’s senses were telling him that something was wrong.

He blinked twice. It could have been Hanzo’s cat – she liked to prowl the complex at night, and there had been occasions where she would scratch at his door for food. Kurapika forced himself to breathe. Yeah, it’s probably the cat—

—Except that cats did _not_ have the ability to grasp a doorknob, Kurapika noted with bone-chilling horror. His mind blanked as he watched the knob jiggle back and forth.

 _‘Holy shit, what do I do? Is someone trying to break in? Are they armed?’_ His thoughts raced at a million miles per second as he subconsciously reached for a small, unassuming canister hidden behind his alarm clock.

 _“…Kurapika, why are you grabbing your pepper spray?”_ Pairo’s face was as white as a sheet. _“Kura—”_

Without thinking, the blond had muted the call. Pairo gaped incredulously for a moment, but Kurapika didn’t have the chance to see what he did next. His nerves were short-circuiting, and his mind was screaming, telling him to hide _right this instant—_

So, he did. Pepper spray and cell phone in hand, Kurapika ducked behind the opposite side of his bed, sandwiching himself between the mattress and the wall. Perhaps if he wasn’t on the verge of shitting his pants, Kurapika would have shaken his fist in the air to curse the lures of cheaper rent for convincing him to live in a small studio.

But he couldn’t do that right now. No, not when his front door opened with a soft _‘click’_ , and Kurapika’s thoughts halted to an abrupt standstill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter 1 'Verse Notes:**  
>  -Whenever Kurapika and Pairo talk to each other, they speak Kurtan (pronounced _"Kurutan"_ , but literally no one save for Kura & Pairo even _tries_ to say it correctly). Naturally, Kurapika has the slightest accent that grows more apparent when he's not paying attention  
>  -Let's assume that Sheila is the author of D-Hunter in this AU  
> -Machi and Paku are tight girlfriends who text each other constantly  
> -Chrollo didn't _want_ to take the TV, but Phinks had insisted because their hideout didn't have one  
>  -The Spiders aren't nearly as /terrible/ in this AU, lol. Togashi will probably destroy me for reducing these bloodthirsty, merciless villains into a gang of misfits who rob rich people because they can (there's going to be a better reason for it, but that's later)  
> -BUT the PT definitely still kills in this AU. Some members are more open to the idea than others. Think Hisoka, Uvo, Nobu, and Feitan having a field day, whereas people like Franklin, Chrollo, Machi, and Paku see it as more of a necessary chore at times  
> -Kurapika's loved the Moomins since his early childhood, and I will take this headcanon to my grave  
> -Hanzo's his next-door neighbor (to the left). He has two cats, Tamago/"Tama" (male) and Niwatori/"Tori" (female). However, only Tori goes outside at night. Leorio's accused him of being a weeb, but Hanzo says that's impossible because he's _actually_ from Jappon???  
>  -Kurapika is 22, Pairo is 21, Gon & Killua are 17, Leorio is 24, Chrollo is 29, on the verge of 30


	2. lucilfer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several things happened at once. There was a flash of honey gold tresses and brown, impossibly wide eyes. Chrollo sucked in a breath—
> 
> “Eat _shit,_ you filthy bastard!”

**☾**

“It’s…” Machi trailed off as her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “It’s unlocked.”

True to her word, the door to apartment 1012 swung open with little resistance. A rookie would have seen this as a stroke of divine luck. Instead, the four Spiders glowered at the gaping doorway, the same thought running through their minds.

Years of experience had taught them that nothing in life ever came this easily, _especially_ if a certain redheaded psychopath was possibly leading them to their untimely demises, like rabbits chasing a carrot on a stick.

Uvogin and Nobunaga tensed up immediately, not unlike guard dogs reacting to the slightest possibility of danger. Before the two could charge in, animalistic growls and all, Chrollo held them back with a single arm.

“I’ll go in first,” Chrollo whispered, pointedly ignoring Uvogin’s disappointed scowl. “I allowed the two of you to come as  _backup_. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

The brawns of the group opened his mouth to protest, but Nobunaga swiftly elbowed him in the gut. “Listen to the Boss, you overgrown ape,” he grumbled to his comrade. Said ‘ape’ snickered as the shorter man rubbed his sore arm indignantly.

Shaking his head, Chrollo moved closer to the entrance. Keen, grey irises peered into the darkened apartment, searching for any signs of Hisoka or the occupant. From its size, the unit appeared to be a studio, with the kitchen immediately to their right and a humble living space directly across. He took a moment to scan the room for possible exits, smirking triumphantly when his gaze landed on a double-paned glass sliding door. A balcony. Perfect.

His first few steps were confident yet measured. Only amateurs snuck around like guilty children, and Chrollo had invaded enough homes to last ten lifetimes.

Unfortunately, there was no squashing the hint of worry that rumbled in his gut. There were but a few things in this world that could prompt him to exhibit any semblance of caution, and Hisoka was one of them. Although, the deafening silence did ease his nerves somewhat. Hisoka had an ostentatious streak that often extended to his tricks; the lack of fire, gunshots, and absolute carnage was a _very_ good sign.

Now standing in the middle of what he assumed to be the ‘living room’, Chrollo paused to further take in his surroundings. The place was exceptionally clean and, interestingly enough, sparse in the personalization department. So, whoever lived here was quite the minimalist. Judging by the immaculate organization of their shoes and coffee mugs, this guy – or girl? – was a no-frills, necessities-only type of person.

His gaze wandered to a behemoth of a bookshelf, absolutely stocked to the brim with a few stray titles lying horizontally on top. Pure, unadulterated gratification swirled in his chest. This was it.

Seems like Mr. or Ms. Law Student owned more than just textbooks and case studies. Much to his delight, Chrollo was able to immediately identify a variety of works he’s read personally. Each shelf was arranged not only alphabetically, but by subject, as well, and if he wasn’t currently in the process of pilfering what could possibly be their most priceless possession, perhaps he would have left a note of praise. It was nice to see he wasn’t the only one who liked to utilize the Dewey Decimal System at home.

“Wow, would you look at that.” Chrollo grimaced as he turned around to an insufferably smug Machi. Her infamous poker-face was as impenetrable as always, yet her eyes twinkled with rare amusement. “How cute. They’re just as lame as you are.”

The ‘nerd’ in question sent her a warning glance, which she only shrugged at in response. “Right, covert mission, gotta be hush-hush. Roger.”

Chrollo directed his attention back to the bookshelf, focusing his sights on what appeared to be the fictional section. Being the smallest of the categories present, it didn’t take him very long to spot the thin, well-worn paperback he came here for. With a gloved hand, he gently pulled the book out of its slot, noting the thin cloud of dust that flew into the air as he did so. They obviously had no idea how much this thing was worth. A novice collector would have had a conniption if they saw its current state.

As he gingerly placed the book into a felt bag, Uvogin and Nobunaga tumbled into the apartment with the grace of two elephants.

“—You heard him! We’re here as backup, so _back up_ and wait for the Boss’ orders!” Nobunaga’s face was flushed with frustration as he attempted to hold back his brute of a friend. Naturally, Uvogin continued to stand there as if the other man was a discontented toddler pulling on their mother at the grocery store.

“Cool it, cool it! I just wanted to see what it’s like inside,” Uvogin quipped back, although his version of a whisper was more akin to a normal person projecting their voice in front of a live audience. Chrollo sweat-dropped when he realized that Uvogin was staring at a bag of chips on the counter.

He opened his mouth, ready to chastise them for their impudence, but Machi had beaten him to the punch. “This is why Paku told you to eat earlier, _numbnuts_ ,” she nagged under her breath with a cold glare. Uvogin’s ferocious sneer would have destroyed the confidence of an entire army, yet it failed to deter the smaller woman from grabbing the bag and promptly chucking it at his face.

At the very least, it seemed to have appeased him. Uvogin popped open the bag with a quick flex of his fist before proceeding to munch on his snack loudly. He held the bag towards Nobunaga in invitation, who only scowled for a moment before taking a chip for himself.

Meanwhile, Chrollo had wandered further into the apartment, now curious about Hisoka’s intentions. Besides their shared love of reading, nothing particularly spectacular jumped out at him. In fact, the simplicity of their dwelling made him wonder if this mysterious person had stolen the novel from someone else. A law student who lived in the shabbier side of York New couldn’t have procured a _two-million jenny_  collector’s item through legitimate means.

Which reminded him, why would Hisoka direct him here? Sure, the prize was worth it, but the redhead usually took care of his own missions so that he didn’t have to split the profits. What drove him to shove the task onto Chrollo, when he knew very well how much he was missing out on?

Chrollo’s musings came to an abrupt halt as he approached the bed. Sitting on top of royal blue sheets was a half-cocked laptop, which, judging by the faint light emitted by the screen, was currently turned on. The all-too familiar feeling of _threat, caution, be alert_ shot down from the back of his neck to the end of his spine. _Someone was here._

With a deep frown, Chrollo slowly approached the mattress, eyes and ears vigilantly monitoring for anything suspicious. Once he was close enough, he grabbed the upper corner of the device to spin it around so that the screen was facing him.

The first thing he saw was a highly-disgruntled, red-faced brunet who seemed to be shouting something. The volume was muted, which made it look like he was participating in an _enthralling_ game of charades. It took a few seconds for the other man to realize that the webcam was no longer facing downwards, and when he did, the wild hand-motions ceased.

Chrollo could've hung up the call and closed the laptop. The night was young, but the day had been quite long, and he was desperate to relax in solitude after this was over. Yet he found himself pressing the unmute key without much of a second thought, simply because he felt like it.

With the most charming smile he could muster, Chrollo gave the brunet a small wave. “Well, hello there.”

He watched with mild amusement as the other man gaped openly for a moment, seemingly to gather his thoughts. His Adam’s apple bobbed hesitantly. _“Are…”_ he bleated nervously with an accent Chrollo couldn’t quite place, _“Are you Kurapika’s… friend?”_

So, the mystery person’s name is Kurapika. Odd, but he’s heard stranger. It definitely wasn’t from anywhere around here, and had he been alone, he would have attempted to sound out the syllables himself. With the frosty indifference of a world-renowned criminal, Chrollo’s lips turned up slightly to form a twisted simper.

“No, I’m afraid not,” he confessed with mock-humility. The brunet’s features paled instantly, and Chrollo’s smirk widened. It was a pity he couldn’t confront him face-to-face; the fearful hitching of one’s breath was always _such_  a power trip. “But do tell this ‘Kurapika’ they have an excellent taste in literature. If they’re so inclined, I wouldn’t mind meeting up for some coffee.”

To the other man’s credit, he was able to get over his shock relatively quickly. His eyes flared with intense anger and determination, so powerful that Chrollo could imagine his chestnut orbs turning scarlet with fury. But before he could get another word in, Chrollo had tapped the mouse pad, causing both video feeds to disappear as the call ended.

Cute kid, but he was getting bored. Eyeing the laptop one last time, Chrollo decided against swiping the device for himself. The model was outdated, anyway. There was nothing left for him here, and he preferred to leave before they had a repeat of last summer’s disastrous mission.

…But now that he thought about it, it _was_ a little strange how the bed wasn’t pressed up completely against the wall. Actually, upon closer inspection, the frame was slightly crooked, which stood out greatly from the careful meticulousness that was characteristic of the rest of the apartment. Chrollo’s eyes flashed dangerously. The only explanation for the peculiar angle would be that this person was in a rush. To move… something, to—

—to _hide_.

Hisoka and his lunacy be damned, Chrollo grappled the corners of the bed frame with newfound resoluteness. If that laughable excuse for a clown thought he was stupid enough to fall for one of his harebrained schemes, he’d have to teach the man a lesson he’d _never forget._

Several things happened at once. There was a flash of honey gold tresses and brown, impossibly wide eyes. Chrollo sucked in a breath—

“Eat _shit_ , you filthy bastard!”

Then, Chrollo felt a head-spinning, ear-ringing, _what the hell was that_ bolt of pain, a stinging sensation that stabbed at his eyeballs and burned his nostrils. He couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, but he stayed calm because damn it, he was the leader of the Phantom Troupe. Maybe he had let out a pained yelp, maybe he didn’t, but Chrollo could immediately sense the other Spiders behind him, ready to defend their Boss from whatever Hisoka had planned.

A savage roar, the sound of a blade slicing through the air – his vision was failing him, but he could tell Uvogin and Nobunaga had apprehended whoever was hiding behind the bed. Thin, gloved fingers grabbed his shoulder, then something cool, soothing, and oh-so-good splashed against his face. The iron grip told him it was Machi, while the scent of whatever she had doused him with reminded him of… milk?

Between the muffled protests of his attacker and Uvogin’s heavy breathing, Chrollo had to strain his ears to hear the pink-haired woman. “Pepper spray,” she muttered, pressing a paper towel presumably saturated with cold water against his eyes. “You’re seriously losing your touch.” Hidden under her nonchalant tone was a hint of concern, an unspoken apology for her late reaction.

Chrollo could only release a rough grunt as he forced himself to gather his bearings. He was lucky he was accustomed to Meteor City’s harsh climate. The pepper spray’s deliberating effects were akin to getting caught in one of his hometown’s sandstorms, so all he had to do was remind himself to breathe.

When his eyes no longer felt like they were going to melt out of their sockets, Chrollo allowed himself to chuckle. This was definitely an interesting turn of events.

 

* * *

 

**✹**

Kurapika’s heart stilled as he heard the foreboding creak of the door. How were they able to get in? Did the cameras catch their faces? Damn it, why him? Why _today?!_ The ice-cold terror running through his veins made his fingers tremble, and he—he needed to call the police—!

Soft, nearly inaudible footsteps pattered near the entrance, and Kurapika silently berated himself. It wasn’t like he could hide in a locked room while he made the call, and the sound of his voice would draw the invader to his location. Chest thumping wildly, the blond raked his brain for ideas desperately, mind chanting _think, think, think, think—_

Hold on; hadn’t Bill mentioned something about his phone’s lock button? Kurapika rapidly pressed it five times, and his chest soared with relief as a prompt for emergency services popped up on the screen. His sweaty thumb swiped at the bar for ‘Emergency SOS’. The next window told him that his GPS coordinates were just sent to the nearest calling center, and the heady sensation of triumph made him feel a tad lighter.

Despite this small victory, he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Kurapika still had the burglar to worry about, and judging by their low murmurs, they weren’t alone. A lone drop of sweat rolled down his brow. Sure, York New wasn’t the safest utopia out there, and he did live near the border that separated the financial district from the slums. But… he’s never had to worry about break-ins before. People just sort of minded their own business, and a grumpy, terribly-blunt blond with an unhealthy addiction to coffee wasn’t enough to catch anyone’s attention.

Regardless, he did his part – all he could do now was wait and pray that the police arrived before he was discovered. With baited breaths, Kurapika held his pepper spray in a vice-like grip as he listened to his assailants. From the sound of it, there were at least three—no, four people in his apartment. There was definitely one female, that’s for sure; her voice was brisk, but it didn’t have the deep baritone of her companions.

Two men began bickering with each other; one of them started to chew on something obnoxiously. Kurapika scowled. Those were his chips! The blond didn’t consume junk food regularly, but given the shit-show that the past few weeks have been, he had planned to indulge a little tonight. Melody had suggested he watch a new documentary, while Leorio dropped off a bottle of his favorite wine. Leave it to his atrocious luck to make him the target of a damned robbery, of all things.

He compelled himself to simmer down. Ultimately, losing a bag of chips isn’t nearly as bad as losing his TV or, Gods forbid, his collection of trinkets from the village.

However, he found the lack of a ruckus rather unusual. Didn’t burglars usually leave a mess behind, like in the movies? They conversed with an air of cockiness, but their movements were reserved and noiseless. A nasty shiver ran down Kurapika’s spine. That told the blond two things: one, they were looking for something specific, and two, they weren’t your average rebellious teenagers who broke into people’s homes for fun. The chances of them being professionals became very likely, and Kurapika couldn’t even begin to fathom why they chose to barge into his meager studio apartment.

To make matters worse, the footsteps got even closer to his location. He stiffened, ears twitching as someone pulled his laptop across his bedsheets. _Pairo!_

Whoever was conversing with Pairo spoke with honeyed, empty words. It was absolutely reprehensible. Sure, their voice flowed like silk, but that hardly mattered when their arrogance practically dripped from every word. Out of all the people he’s ever heard in his life, this man was probably second to Tserriednich in terms of how loathsome he sounded. And given how Hui Guo Rou’s smile could strip paint off the wall, that was _quite_ the achievement.

Kurapika glared at the ceiling. Velvety inflections aside, the man was nothing but a lowly criminal. No matter the consequences, the blond was going to fight will all he had—

 _—Oh, Gods above, he’s moving the bed._ Kurapika barely had enough time to properly grasp the canister’s release button before he was met with dark, boyish features that looked nothing like the scummy low-lives they showed on cop shows. A beat of shock passed between the two, but as soon as his body caught up with his mind, Kurapika’s senses went into overdrive, his index finger poised and his nerves burning with resolve—

In that moment, his eyes could see nothing but crimson.

As Kurapika yelled, he vaguely registered the hulking presence that immediately took a hold of his arms. With a snarl he had no idea he was capable of producing, the blond readied a backwards kick, aiming right for the brute’s family jewels, but his plans were thwarted when another man unsheathed a blade that was _definitely_ not a movie prop. What was he even doing with that thing, anyway?! Open-carry was prohibited in York New, but now that he thought about it, did the rule apply to _katanas_ —?

He was thankful that the burst of adrenaline had numbed the sensation of his upper limbs being forcefully pinned behind his back. But now, a monstrous, mighty hand was clamping down on his mouth, hindering Kurapika from uttering a single word. His chances of escape were quickly dwindling, but the fire in his stomach had a long way to go before it was completely extinguished.

Kurapika settled for a searing glare. Had he not been silenced, he would have told the other man where he could stick the damn sword, for all he cared.

…That… was not something he’d usually wish upon a stranger. The blond furrowed his eyebrows in displeasure. But he tried to justify his anger because, again, they _were_ trying to rob him.

Kurapika continued to struggle, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that the difference in strength was just too great. Coupled with the sneering wannabe-samurai, any further attempts would just increase his chances of getting skewered or snapped in half.

Well, it definitely disproved the likelihood of them being recalcitrant adolescents. The blond was sure that the man restraining him was at least four times his size, and the other three were possibly older than him, if looks were anything to go by. He forced himself to look away from the blade currently being pointed at his throat. Kurapika was in no position to fight, but he could at least memorize their features and gather their names.

A deep, low chuckle. Kurapika gulped. From the corners of his eyes, the one who exposed his hiding spot gently pushed away the woman holding a soaked paper towel. _What the hell?_   It had barely been three minutes! There was no way he could have recovered from the pepper spray that quickly…

Furthermore, Kurapika wasn’t expecting to see someone who looked so… normal? He didn’t wear a ski mask or anything ridiculous like that, but he was clothed entirely in black, if that counted. His assailant’s hair, which was originally gelled back like a mafioso from a low-grade gangster film, was now plastered to his face, mimicking two dark curtains. Out of his entire appearance, the only aspect that seemed bizarre was the small cross tattoo on his forehead. Seriously, who thought that was a good idea?

The man’s shrewd, dusky orbs were bloodshot from the irritation, but all Kurapika could think about was how penetrative they were the moment they first made eye contact. It was as if a single glance was all it took for him to know absolutely everything about the blond, and that was extremely unsettling.

He winced as the grip on his wrists tightened tenfold. A weak groan nearly escaped his lips, but Kurapika wasn’t about to give these ruffians the satisfaction.

The black-haired one seemed to have caught onto his false bravado. “I can’t remember the last time someone managed to catch me off-guard like that,” he remarked with a tone that was much too amused for Kurapika’s tastes. “Sitting and waiting is a little cowardly, but I’m still quite impressed.”

 _"Go to hell,”_ was what Kurapika wanted to say, but the hand over his mouth made it sound more like, _“Grrm mmh hmph.”_

“Uvogin, let them speak.” And suddenly, the sturdy palm that had been gripping his jaw released its clutches. Kurapika gasped for air. That was one name down.

The blond had several questions he wanted to ask, the most prominent ones being, _‘What are you doing here?’_ and _‘What do you want?’_. But the panic and vexation that fueled his courage froze when his sights zeroed in on an unassuming bag in the other man’s hand.

“W-What,” Kurapika began, cursing his voice for cracking slightly, “What’s in there? What did you grab?”

Annoyingly enough, he held the bag towards him with a questioning stare. “In here?” The man, presumedly their leader, asked with a slight tilt of his head, and Kurapika couldn’t hold himself back from rolling his eyes.

“No, up your ass. Yes, in the bag!”

“Oh, nothing much, really,” he replied with an off-handed hum. His hand dug around for a second or two before pulling out a yellowed pamphlet out of its recesses.

Time seemed to stop. “No, no,” Kurapika murmured, mouth dry and muscles trembling. “Please, not that. Seriously, what is it that you want—”

“—Oh, so you _do_ know how much it’s worth!” An eccentric, youthful gleam shone in his gaze, contrasting his carefully blank expression.

“What?” The blond gave him a confused stare. “No, it’s just a children’s book. B-But, I’m willing to give you anything else. What is it? Money? I have some cash in my wallet…”

He was interrupted by a husky laugh. “I guess I was mistaken. Trust me when I say that whatever measly amount you have pales in comparison to this,” the man replied with a dramatic flourish of the book in his hand. Kurapika’s disturbed gawk melted into another sweltering glower; this guy was impossible!

The Kurta opened his mouth to retort, but the words died in his throat as a gloved finger shushed him into submission. He should have attempted to bite the appendage, but something about the contact made his nerves shut down, leaving him no choice but to regard the man with wide eyes.

“Let’s strike a deal,” Kurapika heard him say, each syllable rolling off his tongue gently yet dangerously. “If you let us take the book and leave, we won’t touch anything else—”

“—Huh?” The loon with a sword suddenly looked flummoxed. “B-But, Boss—”

“We’ll leave everything just the way it is,” their ‘Boss’ continued, immediately shutting up the other man. “And, we won’t hurt you. I’d say the odds are in your favor, wouldn’t you?”

The logical side of Kurapika moaned because damn it, he was right. Walking away from this with pretty much all of his possessions and, well, _alive_ , sounded pretty fucking great. The only losses he'd have to sustain would be his copy of ‘D-Hunter’ and his pride; he’d live to see another day.

However, his heart pulled him back to quiet days at home with Pairo, pouring over the book with a dictionary in hand. Both boys were determined to understand this very special gift from Sheila, and Kurapika remembered the nights where his mother had to forcibly take it away, just to get him to sleep properly.

Perhaps the utter conflict that raged within him showed on his face, because the boyish thief was now looking at him curiously. Kurapika bit his lip; what should he say? Should he be reasonable and accept the man’s terms, or was he willing to stand his ground to defend the sole reason he mustered the courage to leave the village in the first place? Taupe irises stared into grey beseechingly, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

The seconds that passed felt like hours, and the two continued to eye the other in agonizing silence. That is, until the brute behind Kurapika motioned towards the cell phone lying helplessly on the ground.

“Hey, Boss,” he grunted, hot breath cascading down the blond’s shoulders. Kurapika would have recoiled at the sensation if he was able. “Do you think she called the cops?

 _Oh_ , no he _didn’t_. “I. Am. A. Guy,” the blond forced out through clenched teeth.

He swore he was about to have an aneurysm when the man guffawed. “Holy shit, seriously?”

Before he could answer, the pink-haired one crouched down to pick up the lonely device. She scrutinized it for a moment before pressing the home button.

“Might wanna hurry,” she stated monotonously, throwing the phone onto the bed carelessly while paying no mind to Kurapika’s startled _‘Hey!’_. “His phone’s being tracked. I’d give it another five minutes before the bozos-in-uniform show up.”

Their leader nodded, motioning towards the one with the sword. He sheathed his blade, but not without directing a hostile look towards their seething captive.

“You hear that, Blondie? You’ve got five minutes to choose between that book or your life.” Did Kurapika say that the emo tattooed guy was second to Tserriednich? Scratch that, this idiot deserved the spot more.

Kurapika urged himself to inhale. He tried not to focus on the memories that resurfaced and threatened to choke him up even more. Just one word, that’s all it took. One word, and this will all be over.

Vacuous, defeated eyes traveled from the book to their smug leader. Maybe if he wasn’t outnumbered, the Kurta would have taken him on. But his arms were quickly losing feeling, and the thief had a perfectly valid point when he hinted that his ultimatum was in Kurapika’s best interests. On the other hand, he could attempt to stall them, but something in his gut told the blond that they weren’t above disposing of anyone who got in their way.

His heart sank. “…Fine. Take it,” he croaked; the words left his mouth like thick sand. “Just go.”

He didn’t want to look at the victorious grin on the bastard’s face. “I knew you were smart,” their leader praised with a quick pat on Kurapika’s cheek. He quickly twisted his face to avoid his touch. “As a bonus, I’ll tell you who I am.”

Kurapika’s breathing hitched, and the other man smirked. Why would he do that? Wasn’t he afraid of getting caught by the officials?

A curious ‘why?’ sat at the tip of his tongue, but instead, the blond muttered, “Humor me.” It seemed to be the correct response, for the raven-haired thief released a pleased laugh.

“You’re an interesting one.” The smile on his face was devoid of the maliciousness from earlier. It made Kurapika squirm, but not necessarily because he was disgusted by the sight. He suppressed a shiver as the other man leaned in closer, his lips barely an inch away from Kurapika’s lone earring.

“I’m a wanted man. But you? You can call me Lucilfer.”

Something hard collided with the back of his neck, and his brain felt like it was vibrating against his skull. Kurapika’s vision swam for a moment, then all he knew was a quiet darkness.

 

 

 

 

 

Exactly five minutes later, three officers rushed to the scene, guns cocked and flashlights shining at the ready. At first, they were quite befuddled; the sole occupant of the apartment, a blond man dressed in cartoon pajamas, was propped up on the couch, face-down, ass high in the air. The only sign of a possible struggle was an empty milk carton on the ground.

One of them scoffed; was this some sort of prank call? Maybe the kid had gotten black-out drunk and butt-dialed 911. As far as they could tell, nothing else had been touched, and the blond was clearly uninjured.

“Captain Bhavimaina, you might want to check this out...” It was the greenhorn, Vict. His voice shook with a fear that made Bhavimaina raise an eyebrow.

“What is it?” He strolled over to their newest recruit, ready to berate him for being so fainthearted.

Oh. _Hell._

Lying innocently on top of the kitchen counter was a crudely-drawn spider, seemingly done with a permanent marker. If the captain didn’t know any better, he would have laughed at how childish it looked.

Instead, the man wordlessly grabbed his walkie-talkie. “Bhavimaina for Izunavi.”

 _“Go ahead,”_   the corporal’s gruff voice echoed back.

Bhavimaina swallowed the lump in his throat. He sort of wished he didn't have to vocalize the truth; maybe he could have pretended he never saw it. “Looks like the Troupe’s at it again, Sir.”

 

* * *

 

**☾**

“If you have something to say, then say it.”

Machi’s harsh stare bore into Chrollo’s back. Her silence told him that she was deep in thought, contemplating what to say next. Not that it was worrisome, anyway; despite her curt attitude, she respected their leader with a reverence that almost rivaled Pakunoda’s.

He couldn’t see her expression, but it was clear she was frowning. “Back there, at the kid’s apartment. You were being… weird,” she said, and before Chrollo could interject, she added, “I don’t know what you’re thinking, and I won’t ask. But don’t do anything rash.”

Chrollo paused to face the pink-haired woman. “What would that entail?”

“Don’t play dumb. I saw that look in your eye,” she shot back, crossing her arms defiantly. “I’m just warning you ahead of time.” Machi made sure to keep her features clear of any emotion as Chrollo analyzed her face.

The man only tilted his head curiously. Machi’s always been stubborn, but she was only truly obstinate whenever she was unsure of something. Chrollo couldn’t immediately discern what bothered her, and while it was slightly uncomfortable, he knew better than to ask right now. She was probably going to discuss the matter with Pakunoda before confronting him about it.

“I understand,” was all he responded with before resuming his brisk pace. Machi followed. “Thank you for the warning. Your intuition’s always been the sharpest of the group.”

Now that he was no longer facing her, he missed the flash of suspicion in her eyes. “Only when it comes to certain things,” she huffed back, and the rest of the journey home was completed in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter 2 'Verse Notes:**  
>  -Kurapika's door swung open because he never locked it properly; he was too focused on running to the bathroom in Ch. 1  
> -Machi's hella sassy and knows it, but she gets away with it because she's the second best at dealing with each Troupe member (surpassed only by Paku)  
> -Kurapika's one hell of a hothead, but he's opposed to excessive swearing, hence his hesitation. He allows himself to curse when the situation calls for it  
> -Kura and Chrollo use the DDC at home to organize their ridiculously large book collection :')  
> -The fictional section LOOKED like it was small, but in actuality, Kura loves that genre the most; it's just that the majority of those books are back at the village (bc he couldn't bring them all)  
> -Kura's school is in York New's financial district, but living there is expensive as heck, so he has to live much farther away. He commutes each morning via train. However, his apartment complex is in the same area as Gon and Killua's high school, so they often drop by for fun  
> -Meteor City is ~not~ an actual 'city' in this AU; it's an extension/'part' of York New, but it has its own sovereignty for reasons that will be explained later. It's referred to as Chrollo's "hometown" because legally, it's a separate entity from YN  
> -D-Hunter is as valuable as a first-edition copy of "Alice in Wonderland"  
> -The phone button thing is an actual feature for iPhones, but iirc, newer models have a different button sequence


	3. an opportunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, he could use this to his advantage. At least, that’s what Kurapika continuously told himself as he fished the note out of his trash can.

**✹**

The faint aroma of espresso beans and freshly-baked pastries did little to stimulate Kurapika, who all but dragged himself through the entrance of the café with Leorio in tow.

Beyond the dark circles under his eyes and the slight twitch of his fingers, an average passerby wouldn’t have thought the blond was the victim of a home invasion just the night before. He wasn’t the type of person who outwardly projected their woes to the world, waiting for someone to ask him if everything was all right. Kurapika liked to think it was indicative of his humble temperament. Killua accused him of trying to avoid “nosey plebs”. Which, to be fair, wasn’t entirely off the mark. Side-stepping awkward conversations was just a bonus.

And Leorio – Gods bless the man, despite his occasional display of idiocy – had taken one look at his drooping shoulders before deciding that Kurapika’s morning cup of coffee would be his treat. The blond had protested, but Leorio was dead set on plugging his ears, even going as far as pilfering his handmade wallet from his shoulder bag. “You don’t even have the means to pay for it now, so I don’t want another word out of you, mister!” Leorio had declared with a self-satisfied grin.

Kurapika thought about admonishing him for his less-than-savory jests; the Kurta had _just_ gotten robbed, and here Leorio was, brandishing his wallet in front of him like a five-year-old. But instead, Kurapika had shaken his head and thanked him with a light laugh, which resulted in an even bigger beam from his spectacled friend. Leorio’s natural tone-deafness was often infuriating, but this time, he was just trying to help out a stressed-out buddy who was in serious need of a pick-me-up.

…Well. A stressed-out buddy who also happened to be his ex, but the other man had insisted that this was _not_ a date, and Kurapika was just too damn tired to think on the matter any further.

Inside, a jittery brunet who was shakily adding milk to someone’s latte gave them a crooked, shy smile. “W-Welcome!” he exclaimed, voice cracking slightly. Kurapika responded with a polite nod, while Leorio directed a curt wave to the frazzled man. He seemed to be pleased by this, if the twinkle in his eyes were any indication. But before they had the chance to look away, the poor bloke’s fingers lost their grip on the pitcher, causing him to spill its contents all over his apron and the tiled floor. To make matters worse, a disgruntled customer, presumably the one who had ordered the latte, began swearing profusely.

Not wanting to embarrass him any further, Kurapika swiftly made his way to the cash register, pulling a flabbergasted Leorio by the arm. There, another brunet glanced up from the cup he was writing on.

“Nice to see you two. The usual?”

Kurapika sighed and nodded. “That sounds great, Linssen.” He watched as the other man scribbled his name onto a large paper cup. “If you’re here, I’m guessing you’re done with the torts Hui Guo Rou assigned?”

“If by ‘done’ you mean ‘I haven’t started’, then sure,” Linssen replied nonchalantly, not noticing the bead of sweat rolling down the blond’s face. “I’ve had it with his insanely long readings. Honestly, it’s like his money’s gone to his head. The rest of us have to work for a living, you know?”

“Haha, yeah. Relatable.” The great thing about Linssen was how he never tried to prod into anyone’s business. If, by chance, he had caught sight of the blond’s slightly wrinkled shirt and weary gaze, he at least had the good graces not to comment. Kurapika moved slightly to the right, motioning for Leorio to order his beverage. The medical student scratched his chin for a moment, eyeing the menu with great concentration.

“I guess…” Leorio trailed off to squint at the myriad of drink names. “I’m gonna get an iced Americano, please. Large.”

Scoffing, Linssen sent him an annoyed glower. “That’s what you always order.”

“Wha- Well, it’s a classic!” Leorio sputtered back as he handed over his debit card reluctantly; Kurapika and Linssen shared a knowing look.

“Let it go, Leorio,” Kurapika chided lightly. The look of betrayal on his friend’s face made him roll his eyes. “Stop wasting time and grab your card. We should go find a table.”

With a frown that looked suspiciously like a pout, Leorio thanked Linssen before following the blond to an empty window seat. Around them, the light chatter and clinking mugs blended into a congenial white noise. While he usually preferred quieter, more serene locales, the hustle and bustle of a neighborhood café never failed to work wonders on the Kurta’s mood. If Kurapika closed his eyes, he could almost pretend as if his life wasn’t trying to fuck with him at every possible chance.

“So,” Leorio began, eyeing Kurapika warily. “Do you, uh, mind talking about what happened?”

…And there it was. Kurapika’s lips curled downwards slightly, but he tried his damnedest to not look too distressed. After all, Leorio had enough on his plate as it is. “No, I suppose I don’t mind,” he stated a few seconds later, and the other man’s tense posture loosened somewhat. His discomfort made Kurapika want to squirm – did he really look that bitchy today? “Ah, where do I start?”

“Anywhere you’re comfortable with,” Leorio suggested amiably with a comforting smile. Kurapika vaguely wondered if splitting up had been a hasty decision.

The blond tapped his fingers on the tabletop, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. “I mean, the cops came a few minutes after they broke in. It’s not like I had much of a case going for me, anyway. Besides my book, they left virtually everything untouched.”

Except his milk. It was his favorite brand, and in the recesses of his memory, Kurapika recalled the pink-haired woman grabbing it from his fridge. The chips were a loss, too, but the milk was, by far, much more of a sore spot.

Leorio blinked. “Wait, book? You don’t mean—”

“Yes, they took my copy of _‘D-Hunter’_.” Hell, even saying it made his chest hurt. Leorio must have noticed the grief on his friend’s face, as he reached across the table to place his hand over Kurapika’s. The contact made the blond flinch; it reminded him too much of their time together. Time that was decidedly _over_ , as of a few months ago. And while they had separated on very good terms, moments like these made Kurapika wonder if the medical student had more thoughts about the break-up than he let on.

An awkward cough later, Leorio’s eyes had widened comically before he quickly released Kurapika from his grasp. “Ah—Uh, sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Kurapika hummed. “It’s all right.” He hoped Leorio couldn’t pick up on the hint of suspicion in his voice.

Judging by his sheepish grin, he didn’t. “But anyway, there’s no way they could’ve bum-rushed their way ‘outta there without leaving some sort of clue behind, you know?” Leorio scratched the back of his neck; he only did that whenever he was upset or flustered. “You got their names and stuff, right?”

“Yes, but…”

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean there’s _‘nothing you can do’_?"

Between having a precious piece of his past stolen and getting knocked out cold in the comfort of his own home, Kurapika was _not_ in the mood to deal with anyone’s shit. And although he felt slightly bad for how terrified the officers had been upon discovering the graffiti in his kitchen, the blond had hoped they were capable of getting a few fingerprints, footprints, or something—!

The officer he was speaking to – his nametag read ‘Bhavimaina’ – gulped visibly, but to his credit, his features retained its professional stoicism. “I truly am sorry, sir. But you see, the tag on your counter isn’t the work of some childish fiend. It’s the mark of a notorious band of criminals. We’ve been chasing them for years, but to no avail.”

“Years?” Kurapika’s face blanched. But that didn’t make any sense. What would a crime syndicate want with him? As far as he knew, he was practically nonexistent to the world before he left Lukso. And when he moved to York New to start his undergraduate career, the few possessions he had at the time included a rucksack full of clothes and small mementos from his family. So, sure, those items were priceless for their sentimental value, but it still didn’t explain why a gang chose to terrorize _him_ , of all people.

Officer Bhavimaina crossed his arms. “Yeah, afraid so. They call themselves the Phantom Troupe.”

He supposed it sounded quite fitting, considering their leader’s whole aesthetic screamed ‘death metal album cover’. “How… juvenile?” Kurapika thought out loud with a slight grimace.

“You’re telling me. But despite the ridiculous name, these guys are top-notch thieves. They usually like to target politicians, movie stars – you know, the upper one-percent of society.”

Kurapika motioned towards his bare-boned apartment. “Which I am obviously a part of.”

Had the blond been in a better mood, perhaps he would have felt a twinge of self-satisfaction for his brilliant joke. Officer Bhavimaina scratched his cheek awkwardly. “Uh—Yeah. Point is, we don’t need to swab the place for prints or anything like that, since we already know their identities pretty well…”

The man’s nervous pause made Kurapika’s frown deepen. “But?”

“Judging by the pattern of their movement, we believe they operate out of York New’s Restricted Access Zone,” Officer Bhavimaina reported, a hint of irritation peeking out from his otherwise even tone. “You seem like a smart man, so I’m sure you can picture the implications.”

 

* * *

 

“Oh,” Leorio muttered, shaking his head in dismay. “Oh, damn. They’re from Meteor City?”

With a clenched jaw, Kurapika nodded affirmatively. “The YNPD can’t touch them as long as they’re within the RAZ's borders. And even if they decided to raid their headquarters—”

“—It would count as a breach of sovereignty, which explicitly goes against the Gyro Accords,” the medical student finished with a faint growl. For a second, Kurapika pondered if telling him was a good idea. He knew that Leorio still thought of RAZs with the same fondness one would have for their worst nightmare. Not that the blond could blame him, of course; the living conditions were worse than that of a federal prison, and Leorio had nothing but awful childhood memories for that reason.

To Kurapika’s relief, the other man simply closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. “The government’s only option is to ambush the Troupe while they’re out and about. Which is easier said than done, considering they’ve been on the run for a pretty long time.”

“Shit. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Leorio said after Kurapika fell silent. “Are you okay? Did they do anything to you?”

Deep chuckles, dark hair, an acute, all-knowing gaze. Kurapika could almost feel the thief’s hot breath against the shell of his ear. Unconsciously, the blond’s fist tightened. “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he ended up grumbling under his breath. It wasn’t like he was lying. No, he _totally_ had the situation under control. “They found my hiding spot, but by then, I had already alerted the authorities. It’s a miracle I managed to escape unscathed.”

Leorio chuckled. “Sounds like our Kurapika, all right,” he poked light-heartedly, and the blond almost felt guilty for reimagining the sensation of a finger ghosting over his lips while his ex was right in front of him.

For the next few minutes, the two chatted about mishaps in their respective fields. Leorio started ranting about his latest round of clinical rotations, and how the last doctor he had to shadow was weirdly obsessed with his patient’s feet. Kurapika responded with a retelling of Linssen’s unfortunate encounter with Hui Guo Rou, and how the man had gotten his ass groped in the middle of a mock trial. Poor Linssen had jumped three feet in the air, throwing the papers in his hands like confetti at a party. Kurapika and Bill had no idea what had transpired at the time – they just assumed he had the jitters – and the latter was so amused, the coffee he was drinking spurted out of his nostrils.

The mere mention of Tserriednich triggered a concerned glint in Leorio’s eyes, but Kurapika quickly shut him down with a hurried, “I’m fine, I promise. I’d tell you otherwise, okay?” As always, the man didn’t look convinced, but he knew that was Kurapika Code for _‘please don’t talk about it’_.

All in all, catching up with Leorio was quite pleasant, and very much needed. The two fell into a comfortable lull that soothed Kurapika’s frayed nerves. He almost wished they had worked out; Leorio was an amazing companion, a package that included compassion and warmth rolled into one. But the past had proven they worked better as friends, and the blond wasn’t in any rush to find another partner any time soon.

“Large iced Americano for L-Liorio!” the same fidgety barista from earlier hollered, causing the older man to frown.

“What the hell, man? It’s Leorio.” With a moody grumble, he stood up from his seat to retrieve his beverage. Upon his return, the blond gave him an amused look.

“Thanks for the coffee, _Liorio_ ,” Kurapika remarked with a smug smirk on his lips. He allowed himself to snigger when the medical student plopped down with a mirthless glare.

“You’re fucking hilarious. But seriously,” Leorio took a quick sip from his drink, “promise me you’ll let me know if something comes up, okay?”

Kurapika sighed in exasperation, but he wasn’t truly annoyed. “Of course, of course. You have my word.” He focused his gaze on the pick-up counter. Was his coffee almost done? “It’s a new day. I’m going to buy some groceries, head home, and pick up Woble. It’s going to be a _great_ Saturday.”

Perhaps a deity had heard the sprinkle of optimism in his voice. “One large Red-eye for…” the barista squinted at the name on the cup, and a feeling of dread grew in the blond’s stomach. “…for Crapika!”

It was faint, but Kurapika heard Linssen make a surprised sound at the back of his throat. “It’s ‘Kurapika’, Katzo,” he corrected. It wasn’t necessary, but the damage was done, and Leorio was on the verge of spitting out the contents of his mouth. If his face got any redder, the man would have resembled a ripe tomato.

Kurapika willed himself to stay calm as Leorio began pounding his hand against the table. “Not a _single_ word.”

 

 

 

 

 

Afterwards, the blond walked to the nearest grocery store, footsteps heavy with embarrassment. Linssen had apologized for the new kid’s mistake, but the miniscule curl of his lips did little to diffuse the situation. In the end, Kurapika couldn’t stay mad because the barista looked petrified enough, so he took his drink wordlessly and chugged it as if it were a shot of vodka.

Upon entering, he took a small basket and headed straight for the dairy aisle. His list was relatively short, since he had just gone shopping a week ago. All Kurapika needed was a new carton of milk, those star-shaped apple crackers Woble loved, and maybe a snack or two for himself. The blond hummed a foreign tune softly as he rounded the corner towards the refrigerated goods.

Kurapika didn’t know what to say or think when he approached the shelves that _usually_ contained several different types of milk. Instead of seeing a multitude of brightly-colored labels, the section was completely and utterly barren. The blond silently asked himself if it was okay to cry in public.

As he stood there, mind still reeling, an employee wearing a purple cap approached him from behind. “Hey, man. Sorry, but we’re in the middle of restocking…” he suddenly trailed off when he noticed the slump in Kurapika’s shoulders. “Uh, sir? You cool?”

Kurapika turned to face him, eyes devoid of any emotion. “Yes. Yes, I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” Sure, his soul felt like it was being torn in half and the beginnings of a scream scratched at his vocal chords, but he was _fine_. “Was there a high demand, or…?”

“I’m not really sure, it was weird. Someone just went ahead and took our entire stock an hour ago.” The other man let out an annoyed puff of air. “I’m guessing they’re throwing a party or something. Maybe baking a shit ton of stuff. No sane person would ever need that much milk.”

The blond made a soft sound before turning on his heels. “I appreciate the help,” he said with a half-hearted wave. Kurapika ignored the skeptical glint in the employee’s gaze before retreating to the bread aisle. Things happened for a reason, right? Maybe his ancestors were telling him it was time to go vegan. Regardless, there was nothing he could do about it now. Throwing a tantrum would accomplish nothing, and at the very least, he could retrieve some stuff for Woble.

With a resigned exhale, Kurapika trudged on over towards the baby food section. Yeah, Woble was coming over today. He couldn’t afford to be grumpy, especially since the girl did nothing to deserve his scorn. Brown irises quickly scanned the shelves before he saw the snack he was looking for. The thought of her squealing before she popped a few crackers in her mouth made him smile.

As he dropped the box into his basket, the Kurta heard a soft cough. Assuming they were trying to reach something in front of him, Kurapika simply moved to the left to give them space, but when no one stepped up to grab anything, the blond couldn’t help but look up.

A beat. “…You can’t be serious.”

“Do you glare at everyone like that, or am I just special?” Slate eyes danced with mirth as he regarded the blond with pure amusement.

Thick tendrils of anger welled up in Kurapika’s chest – or maybe it was vomit? Could very well be both. Either way, Kurapika was sure he probably looked like a fish out of water, and why was this guy acting as if he didn’t just do something very illegal last night?

Instead of his strange fur ensemble and slicked-back hair, the man was sporting a knit turtleneck sweater and a black beanie, which conveniently covered the tattoo on his forehead. Raven locks framed his face flatteringly, and if Kurapika wasn’t so pissed, maybe he would have admitted he was kind of attractive, in an odd, rouge-ish sort of way. But outward appearances aside, one glance at his visage was enough to remind Kurapika of being painfully restrained by a meathead and threatened by some katana-wielding freak.

Kurapika opened his mouth, only to promptly shut it again. He growled lowly. “What are you doing here? And what’s stopping me from yelling and turning you in right now?”

Lucilfer’s lips turned up slightly; Kurapika quickly diverted his gaze, instead focusing on the bridge of his nose. “I’m human too, you know. I require sustenance like any other living organism.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me,” Kurapika found himself biting back, crossing his arms. “I just assumed you lived off of blood and tears.”

His chest rumbled with a low laugh, which only irritated the Kurta even more. “Tastes much better with wine and cheese, I can tell you that,” he replied easily before nodding his head towards the end of the aisle. “Anyway, I wouldn’t recommend drawing any unnecessary attention towards us.”

Sparing a second to look away, Kurapika followed his gaze reluctantly. A colossal man with drooping earlobes was loitering around the apple bin, seemingly picking which fruits he wanted to purchase. However, the prickling sensation at the back of his brain told Kurapika it was only a front. If one looked closely, it was obvious his narrowed, unblinking eyes were trained right on them.

On the opposite end, a baby-faced blond was engrossed in his phone, fingers flying wildly across the screen. With his relaxed posture and peaceful expression, he didn’t seem threatening at all. But the moment green met brown, Kurapika felt an unsettling chill run down his spine. He was giving the Kurta a silent warning, one that he didn’t fail to notice.

Just like the previous night, Kurapika found himself outnumbered, and damn, did he hate it. He also couldn’t ignore the touch of fear that made his palms sweat, but they were in public, and the blond was somewhat confident they wouldn’t try anything out in the open. The Kurta faced Lucilfer once more, pointedly ignoring his piercing gaze. He wasn’t stupid enough to try his luck, but Kurapika wasn’t about to let his anxiety show, either.

“Okay, I get it. You’ve got your posse here to protect you,” Kurapika spat out bitterly. “So, what else do you want? Do you get some sort of sick thrill from the misfortune of others?”

To his surprise, the other man almost looked offended; he clenched his jaw momentarily in response. “Contrary to what you might believe, I’m not one of _those_ people,” he pointed out, specifically emphasizing the word ‘those’. Kurapika wondered if he was referring to someone in particular. “It doesn’t concern me if you choose to doubt my intentions, but I really am just here for food.”

Resisting the urge to scoff, Kurapika watched as he lifted a basket similar to his own. Inside was a bottle of wine, some organic fruits, and… an _obscene_ amount of packaged caramel pudding. The blond raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Well, pardon me for being a little skeptical. How do I know you’re going to pay for it?”

Lucilfer’s grin widened. “You don’t.”

 _Gods_ , what he wouldn’t give to throw this smug bastard into the nearest prison cell. Kurapika would never forgive himself if he willingly allowed someone to commit a crime. Unfortunately, he also wasn’t in the mood to die today. The blond simply clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Whatever. If you have nothing else to say, I’m leaving. I don’t appreciate having my time wasted.”

Although his feet felt as heavy as lead bricks, Kurapika managed to take a few steps in the other direction. But before he could increase their distance any further, he felt something – or rather, someone – grip his forearm lightly. The touch sent an electric shock through his body, and he couldn’t quite understand why. The blond decided it was probably out of revulsion.

With reflexes he had no idea he possessed, Kurapika promptly ripped his arm out of Lucilfer’s grasp. “Don’t you _dare_ touch me—”

“My name is Chrollo.”

…What? Perplexed, Kurapika could only gape at the other man. His demeanor hadn’t changed much, but there was an unfamiliar flicker in his eyes. It reminded him of a child confronted with something new and exciting for the very first time. And for some inexplicable reason, the mere sight tugged at the very fibers of his being. Curiosity, apprehension, and an indescribable yearning for… for _something_ welled in his gut, and for a brief second in time, Kurapika felt a weird sense of Déjà vu—

It was like… he had been touched like this before.

Kurapika swallowed. He didn’t like this feeling.

Several tense moments passed between the two, but the scratchy sound of the intercom broke the blond out of his reverie. “What makes you think I want to know your name?” Kurapika breathed out, forcing his voice to stay as steady as possible.

“I’m guessing you probably don’t,” Chrollo responded slowly, and before Kurapika could cut in, he continued, “I just… felt like you should know.”

Kurapika couldn’t stop himself from making a face. “You told me because you _felt_ like it?”

The older man shrugged. “Well—yes?”

If there was a medical condition for chronic eye-rolling, Kurapika probably had it. The blond took one look at his watch before groaning to himself. Nearly thirty minutes had passed since he first entered the store, and he still hadn’t bought anything. Oddly, meeting Chrollo’s stare was becoming increasingly harder to do, but he called upon his iron resolve to give him courage.

“I suppose I should thank you for giving me even more evidence to use,” Kurapika stated blandly. Damn it, why was he still looking at him like that? It was unnerving. “I’m sure the authorities would love to put a name on your face, Mr. Chrollo Lucilfer.”

A sane person would have bristled at his thinly-veiled threat, but for whatever reason, Chrollo was like an immovable, dense rock. Kurapika expected the man to dismiss him with a callous wave or some sort of snarky comment, but instead, he asked, “Why is that book so important to you?”

 _Fuck_ , that’s right. The book. The weird feeling that had culminated in his stomach quickly gave way to red-hot anger. “That’s none of your business,” Kurapika practically snarled; as expected, the thief barely flinched. Thankfully, the change in topic gave the blond the strength to tear himself away from the unnatural spell the other had cast.

Perhaps it was childish of him, but before Kurapika left the aisle, he proudly displayed his right middle finger. “Unless you plan on returning it to me, I don’t want to see you _ever_ again.” With that, he compelled himself to leave, despite his odd urge to turn around and see the expression on Chrollo’s face.

 

 

 

 

 

As the cashier scanned his items, Kurapika reached into his shoulder bag to pull out his wallet. His fingers fumbled around, searching for the familiar leather of his father’s handiwork. Keys, notebook, pens…

Kurapika frowned. Where was it? He should have felt it by now—

Taupe irises widened in horror. _Leorio!_ He forgot to return his wallet! Ice-cold panic began to numb his nerves; what should he do now? The blond hurriedly searched every pocket he could, hoping he had left some spare change lying around.

Cursing inwardly, Kurapika managed to pull out a few cents, a crumpled bill, and an empty gum wrapper. The Kurta always made it a point to thank the Gods for his existence and all of his worldly possessions, but he couldn’t help but feel like they were having a grand ‘ole time making his life a living hell.

When the cashier bagged the last of his things, she looked up at him with a wide smile. “Thank you so much, sir! Have a great day!”

Wait, what?

“I, uh—” Kurapika uttered, “I haven’t paid yet, though.”

“Oh, no worries!” The woman clapped excitedly before pulling out a receipt. “Someone paid for your items ahead of time. He was quite handsome, too,” she added with a quick wink. “Your boyfriend’s a keeper!”

If Kurapika’s jaw was capable of dropping to the ground, it probably would have broken through the linoleum floor. But then he remembered there were people waiting behind him, so he quickly grabbed his bags and murmured, “Thanks, but he’s _not_ my boyfriend.”

Before he left the store, he warily scanned his surroundings for a man clad in black. Unsurprisingly, his efforts were in vain; Chrollo had disappeared silently, like a shadow in the night. Kurapika lingered near the entrance momentarily before shaking his head and beginning his trek home.

 

 

 

 

 

If the encounter at the grocery store was abnormal, nothing could have prepared Kurapika for _this_.

The blond dropped his bags from the sheer shock. “What…” he squeaked, “What the _heck_?”

Sitting in the middle of his living room were 50-odd containers of milk, all of varying types and brands. They were arranged meticulously, as if someone attempted to make a display inside of his own home. He noted, with a mix of confusion and alarm, that his favorite milk sat at the forefront of them all.

Kurapika didn’t know what was worse: the fact that he now had a year’s worth of dairy in his apartment, or the knowledge that someone had trespassed into his property again. And there was only one idiot who could be responsible for this.

Once he was sure his knees wouldn’t give out, the blond made his way to a carton that had a sticky note attached to it. The message was written in an elegant script:

> Sorry we had to use your milk. Maybe you shouldn't pepper spray me next time?
> 
> P.S. Here’s my number, if you ever change your mind: (555) 555-5555

Snorting, Kurapika crumpled the note before tossing it into the waste bin. The guy was delusional if he thought he was going to save his damned cell number, of all things. ...And what the hell did he mean by 'next time'?

He took one last glance at the mountain of milk before sighing. But maybe… maybe it would be useful. As evidence, of course. Phone numbers could be tracked, and if Chrollo was dumb enough to keep a phone on him, it would help the authorities catch him faster.

Yeah, he could use this to his advantage. At least, that’s what Kurapika continuously told himself as he fished the note out of his trash can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter 3 'Verse Notes:**  
>  -Chrollo most definitely did not pay for all that shit, lol. All of that milk is just there to tease poor Kura  
> -~120 years ago, York New City first introduced the idea of a "Restricted Access Zone". The poor, criminals, and basically anyone who lacked a role in society were banished to these districts in the hopes that keeping them contained would lower the crime rates. As inhumane as it was, the project was overwhelmingly successful, so cities all around the world started implementing their own RAZ sites to "improve" their quality of life. Since the one at YNC was kind of like Ground Zero, it's commonly referred to as **"Meteor City"**. No one can enter, and no one can leave. Sometimes, the government will exile criminals there.  
>  -A few decades ago, a huge global fiasco arose when NGL started distributing drugs to different RAZs. The Gyro Accords were created to cease further transactions between the zones and NGL. As long as it's in effect, the government can't interfere in a RAZ's business, and vice versa. This is why the YNPD can't just barge into Meteor City and arrest the PT.  
> -Denizens of a RAZ naturally don't have any public record to speak of, so the cops are pissed bc the Spiders are still practically nonexistent lol  
> -Leorio was born in Swaldani City's RAZ, but he was smuggled out as a child and got adopted.  
> -The grocery store employee was Pokkle! Meanwhile, the cashier was Ponzu.  
> -Kurapika, Bill, and Linssen are the Law School Trio. They study together after classes. :')  
> -No, Chrollo is not in love with Kurapika (//cough// yet). He's simply acting on impulse, like he tends to do. He's curious, and the guy wants answers, so he's gonna pursue them. Poor Kura!  
> -Linssen and Kura first met when they were coworkers at a small restaurant owned by the Nostrades.


	4. foreshadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka had just issued a challenge; one that Chrollo’s pride wouldn’t be able to deny.

**✹**

Kurapika collapsed onto his couch with a long sigh.

Woble was adorable; always has been, always will be. However, being an only child, Kurapika’s knowledge about the “Terrible Twos” was limited to whatever he heard in passing conversations. When he first started his babysitting gig with Miss Oito, Woble was barely an infant; her body was practically the length of his forearm. Blessedly, she hardly ever cried, even when she was tired or hungry. The first time Kurapika heard her shrill wail, Leorio was trying to coax out a giggle by making absurd faces.

The blond chuckled at the memory. One glare from him was enough to stop Leorio from _ever_ attempting that again.

His gaze suddenly slipped to the broken TV remote on the floor, and just like that, the smile on his lips disappeared. Kurapika still loved Woble like the sister he never had, but today was just—

Kurapika picked up the mangled piece of plastic with a frown. Today was nothing short of a _nightmare_.

First, it was the coffee shop. Then, he ran into the second-to-last person he ever wanted to see at the grocery store, and when he came home, said person thought it would be a _splendid_ idea to gift him enough milk to sustain a small country. The Kurta idly wondered if Chrollo had paid for all of it, but then he decided it didn’t matter because thanks to him, half of his living space was occupied by _fifty fucking cartons of milk_.

In the end, Kurapika had spent his two hours of free time gifting each of his neighbors a minimum of one container. Hanzo, bless his heart, had taken three off his hands for his cats. His landlord, Melody, took two, but Kurapika suspected it was because she pitied the desperate glint in his eyes. Fifty had slowly dwindled to eight, and by then, it was almost time for Miss Oito’s work shift. Kurapika had to remove a considerable amount from his fridge to squeeze the remaining cartons inside.

When he knocked on Miss Oito’s door, he was greeted by a grinning Woble, her hands raised expectantly in the air. The mere sight of her bright gaze pulled Kurapika’s thoughts away from maiming a certain smug thief, and when he swept her into his arms, things finally felt like they would be okay.

The blond placed a pot full of water on the stove and grimaced when his hand brushed against a piece of playdough that was wedged between two cabinet doors. Maybe he should just accept that he’s total shit at being optimistic.

Unbeknownst to him at the time, Woble had hid a couple crayons and a small blob of red playdough in her diaper. Kurapika had felt the odd lumps on her bum when he carried her, but when he brought out Miss Oito’s diaper bag, Woble had insisted that she could change it herself. Poor, innocent Kurapika didn’t see the mischievous sparkle in her dark orbs as he led her to his bathroom. With a proud pat on the head, Kurapika closed the door and went to the kitchen to fix up her snack.

Upon his return, the bowl in his hand had dropped to the floor, spilling apple crackers around his feet.

Somehow, Woble had managed to hoist herself up onto the counter, where she was doodling an odd chicken-giraffe hybrid on his mirror with a blue crayon. Kurapika could only gape at her because one, the counter was at _least_ twice her height, and two, she was butt-naked from the waist down. The blond had coughed loudly to gain her attention, crossing his arms with clear disdain. When Woble gave him a small, apologetic simper, Kurapika nearly caved on the spot. Maybe she would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for the fact that she was still finishing the tail on her chimera.

Once she was properly dressed, Woble had asked – or rather, demanded – for her afternoon snack. Kurapika cleaned up the mess on the ground before heading back to fetch more, and when he handed her a new bowl—

“Not blueberry,” Woble had murmured, pushing it away from her. Flabbergasted, Kurapika tried again, only for her to whine softly and turn her head defiantly.

After a couple more failed attempts, Kurapika had no choice but to accept that Woble’s new favorite flavor was _blueberry_ , not apple. This wasn’t too big of a problem, since toddlers tended to be fickle anyway. But Woble was getting anxious; her glowing cheeks and grabby fingers were both signs of imminent doom. It didn’t help that Kurapika’s current stockpile of baby snacks were catered to her previous preferences, and he really wasn’t in the mood to go shopping again.

It went about as well as he expected. With a mighty heave, Woble had unleashed the mother of all tantrums, and Kurapika was sure his eardrums were a few decibels away from bursting. Sweet, angelic Woble had turned into a banshee from hell within the blink of an eye. After a few minutes of her screeching, Kurapika wasn’t sure if he was crying _with_ her.

He tried rocking her gently, but Woble simply smacked him away with surprising strength. When he heated up a bottle of milk, she chucked it to the other side of the apartment like a javelin. Kurapika’s options were wearing thin, and he was afraid the neighbors would start to complain about the racket. With great reluctance, he was forced to resort to the one activity he had vowed to never do with her:

The Kurta turned on the TV.

The effect was almost instant; the flashing colors and new sounds drew Woble in like a moth to a flame, and her crying ceased immediately. Kurapika had picked her up to set her on the couch so she didn’t have to crane her neck to see the screen. Thank the Gods it was over, but the blond was still disappointed in himself. He didn’t like the idea of exposing young children to technology so early-on in their development, and usually, Woble would go to his shelf to pick out a book for the both of them to read together.

Kurapika narrowed his eyes as she clapped along to the opening song of Dragon Hunter Z. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to let her watch for a few minutes. It, at least, gave him some time to whip up something she wouldn’t toss with the vigor of a professional baseball player.

The rest of the afternoon had passed in a similar manner. Kurapika managed to feed her bits and pieces of a blueberry muffin he baked from a box mix, although he suspected she only opened her mouth because she didn’t want to be disturbed from her program. The Kurta itched to turn off the wretched thing so they could do something productive, but his sanity screamed for him not to.

Not that it would have mattered, of course. As 7 o’clock rolled around and Kurapika readied her belongings, Woble had taken to sticking her playdough on various surfaces around the apartment. When he scolded her, the toddler had gotten so distraught, she slammed his TV remote against the coffee table with enough force to remove the batteries. And that, to his dismay, was only the beginning. Woble continued to ravage the poor device with a speed that should be impossible for a 2-year-old, and by the time Kurapika managed to rip it from her grasp, it was mauled to the point of no return.

Kurapika tried to tell Woble that destroying another person’s property was _not_ okay, but when her bottom lip began to quiver, he couldn’t help but sigh and hug her tightly. It was Miss Oito’s job to discipline her, not his. Although, he’s been with her for so long, it was becoming increasingly difficult to act like he was just a babysitter.

When he dropped her off, Woble gave him her usual peck on the cheek before running into Miss Oito’s arms. Her mother took one look at Kurapika’s haggard appearance and asked if she behaved. The blond had paused for a moment, but then Woble smiled and waved, and Kurapika simply told Miss Oito that she was as great as always.

Kurapika dropped the potatoes he cut into the boiling water. Ah, well – despite today’s mishaps, Woble was still a well-behaved girl in-general. Even if she got worse, Kurapika suspected it was much too late for him to adore her any less. It wasn’t like he was subject to her terrors on a daily basis, anyway; Miss Oito was probably the closest one could get to a modern-day saint.

Still, the blond couldn’t shake off this peculiar feeling at the back of his skull. Kurapika dug his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it. He was met with the contact page he had set for Chrollo, who Kurapika had affectionately nicknamed “Bastard”. Stirring the contents of the pot with a ladle, he glared at his phone as if it were responsible for ruining his life. In a way, it was; Chrollo had stolen a beloved relic from his childhood, and for whatever reason, he had the _audacity_ to give his victim his cell phone number, as if Kurapika needed even more salt poured into his wounds. The Kurta still couldn’t explain why he felt the urge to save it, either, but if Chrollo could be tracked this way, he supposed he could take one for the team.

Kurapika also couldn’t explain why his thumb lingered over the call button. Did he really want to do this right now? What if it was a trap, and the device in his hand was set to explode after the second ring? He stood there for a second, contemplating whether his blood pressure could handle a conversation with the Life Ruiner himself. But before he knew it, the potatoes were done boiling, and his phone was pressed up against his ear.

It rang, and rang, and rang.

_“I didn’t expect you to call so soon. Miss me already?”_

A violent wave of ire racked through his body; Kurapika nearly dropped the pot in his hands. Closing his eyes, he inhaled, exhaled, and counted to ten. “Do you really have that much confidence in yourself, or are you just stupid?”

Chrollo hummed – even through the phone, his voice was collected and low. Kurapika told himself that the faint tremors in his fingers were a result of pure hatred. _“It’s not a word I’d use to describe myself, so no,”_ he replied, and the blond absolutely loathed how he managed to relay it so smoothly. Did anything ever phase him?

“Your phone,” Kurapika muttered as he began to mash the potatoes with a fork. “You do know how easy it is to track someone’s location using nothing but their number, right?”

 _“But of course,”_ Chrollo countered self-assuredly; Kurapika could imagine a semi-dramatic look of offense on his face. _“I like to think you’re respectful enough to not try anything unsavory, though.”_

 _'Who does this guy think he is?'_ “Well, you thought wrong,” the blond shot back without missing a beat. “There’s nothing I want more than to throw your sorry behind into the nearest jail cell.”

Chrollo tsked. _“You’d have to get in line. There are a lot of people out there who want me behind bars.”_ Kurapika laughed sardonically at this because he could tell the man was being completely truthful. Before he could retort, Chrollo continued. _“And let’s say you manage to alert the authorities. You tell them you have the phone number of the elusive Chrollo Lucilfer. What makes you think they’ll believe you?”_

Kurapika’s grip tightened as his cheeks flushed with anger. Unconsciously, his mashing became rather violent, and the blond had to count to fifty to stop himself from seeing red.

_“Furthermore, I’m sure you’re aware that we’ve been at this for a very long time. Who’s to say I don’t have multiple phones? How do you know I don’t scramble my lines?”_

“Although it’s only one clue, it’s a clue, nonetheless,” Kurapika answered after a minute, and damn, he didn’t mean to sound so hesitant. “Everyone has to start somewhere. You, unknowingly, gave me the first step I needed to take you down.”

Chrollo could’ve been a hundred miles away, but the blond could still picture him smiling like the weirdo he is. It irritated him beyond belief how the man never took him seriously. Sure, Kurapika had paused for a moment, but he hardly ever stuttered, and Bill said he had a pretty good poker-face when the occasion called for one. There was a bit of shuffling on Chrollo’s end before he spoke. _“Sorry, just wanted to get comfortable.”_ –Kurapika _swore_ he felt his blood pressure spike.

 _“If I were you, I’d drop whatever you’re scheming in that pretty little head of yours,”_ he said as Kurapika seethed silently. _“You may think you have the upper hand, but trust me, there’s nothing I haven’t thought of before.”_   His words maintained a careful steadiness, but they dripped with dangerous implications. _“I will admit, you strike me as a very intelligent person. But I’m sorry to say that you don’t have what it takes to outsmart—”_

 _Nope_ , that was it. Kurapika immediately hung up the call and forcefully shoved his phone back into his pocket. His head spun from the sheer rage that coursed through his veins. How dare he! _How dare he!_ The potatoes were practically goo now, but all he could think about was mashing Chrollo’s stupid, annoying face into a sandpaper wall.

 

* * *

 

**☾**

Chrollo heard a quick ‘beep’ before his home screen appeared. Well, it couldn’t be helped. He placed his phone on the bedside table and sat up from his bed.

Truthfully, leaving the blond his contact information had been a last-minute decision. Hell, running into him at all wasn’t something he planned on, either. Chrollo had other matters to attend to, places to be, sights to see – an irate law student was hardly a priority, even if he _was_ threatening to turn them in. He shook his head bemusedly. Although the odds were clearly against the younger man, Kurapika continued to carry himself with a stalwart certitude that hid his uncertainty exceptionally well. It was refreshing to see someone with a bit of backbone. Chrollo had robbed too many people who gave in at the slightest hint of danger.

He’s not complaining, though. Easier targets meant he could conserve more energy for issues that truly deserved his attention. Sniveling, haughty socialites and corrupt politicians were barely worthy of a disinterested glance.

Kurapika, however, was an unusual case.

Something inexplicable curled in his gut whenever he thought of the obdurate blond. It most definitely wasn’t attraction, nor was it anger. The night their gazes met, Chrollo was momentarily struck by a maelstrom of emotions, the most prominent one being an intense, unpleasant uneasiness.

He couldn’t quite understand why, but his instincts were telling him that Kurapika was _dangerous_. Chrollo fared best when he knew all the rules and players of the game, but the blond was a new, unfamiliar variable. A variable that deserved to be watched _very_ closely, if only to satisfy the nagging urge that refused to dissipate.

Chrollo’s stare hardened. Hisoka must have known something like this would happen. Why else would he try to orchestrate the encounter?

Grey irises fell on a familiar felt bag, and Chrollo willed himself to relax. At the very least, the book was worth getting pepper-sprayed for. He carefully pulled the pamphlet out and fingered its worn, yellowed pages. Chrollo lamented its poor condition, but it didn’t really matter if it was the only copy available. Out of curiosity, he flipped to the first page, hoping to see Sheila’s signature for himself.

Chrollo froze.

The signature was definitely there, but—

Surrounding her messy cursive, various doodles of random, childish things took up nearly every inch of blank space. Wordlessly, Chrollo scanned the other pages in hopes that the same didn’t apply to the rest of the book. Large, misshapen birds were scribbled everywhere – in the margins, between paragraphs, no page was left untouched. If he looked closely, there were also curious symbols next to each sentence, along with some Common penned with a wobbly hand.

Had Chrollo been in a better mood, the discovery might have piqued his interest.

Instead, he cursed under his breath.

 

* * *

 

**✹**

A week had passed since Kurapika’s disastrous encounter with the Demon Lord. Thankfully, Chrollo hadn’t attempted to contact him at all. He expected to be pestered relentlessly, but to the thief’s credit, not a single one of Kurapika’s notifications had his name on it. Not that the blond received a lot of texts, anyway – Bill accused him of taking twenty years to respond to a simple _“wyd”._ But point is, Chrollo was leaving him alone, and Kurapika was perfectly fine with that.

He watched as Woble attempted to spin a wooden _rope koma_ on the floor. After last Saturday, Kurapika thought it would be best to purchase a few toys for Woble to occupy herself with. Unfortunately, none of the toys at the mall had satisfied him; they were all ridiculously flashy, too high-tech for someone of her age. When he scoured the internet for ideas, several articles told him that the best way to get a toddler to behave was by shoving a tablet into their hands. Kurapika was thankful for the chance to leave Lukso and experience the outside world, but perhaps the one thing he could never grow accustomed to was capitalism.

Luckily, Hanzo had given him his old _koma_ from his days in Jappon, and Woble instantly loved it. Kurapika had attempted to compensate him, but the other man simply said that he would accept payment in the form of new mangas. Kurapika just gave him more milk, and that was that.

A quick succession of light knocks pulled the blond out of his musings, and he stood up to open the door.

“Kurapika!” Gon moved in to hug the Kurta, who laughed and responded in kind. Behind him, Killua gave Kurapika a small salute and smirked.

“Gon,” Kurapika managed to say despite the teen’s playful attempts to squeeze the life out of him. “You’re acting like we haven’t seen each other in years.”

Gon huffed and released him from his arms. “I mean, that’s practically the case, right? You don’t tutor me anymore, so I only get to see you once in a while!” Kurapika shook his head and ushered the two inside.

It was almost surreal, how Gon and Killua were nearly halfway done with their senior year of high school. Kurapika first met them when they were barely thirteen, back when the blond was a freshman in college. His degree plan called for hundreds of volunteer hours, and Kurapika had chosen to work with kids at a local middle school. Gon introduced himself first, starry-eyed and all smiles. Then, he ushered over his silver-haired friend, who scowled at Kurapika’s outstretched hand. Only the former had been assigned to Kurapika, but Killua stuck to his side like they were glued to the hip. It didn’t take long for the three to form a formidable bond, one that continued to stay strong to this day.

The two teens removed their shoes and promptly made their way to the living room. Woble looked up from her toy and grinned. “Kil! Gon!” she exclaimed, waving her chubby hands excitedly. Killua swiftly lifted her up and hoisted her into the air, causing the toddler to giggle uncontrollably.

“Hey, Wobs! Look at you! You’re so big now!” Killua remarked as he spun her around gently. When Kurapika turned to look at Gon, his eyes shone with unadulterated adoration. The blond smiled.

“Would you two like anything to drink? Or maybe something to eat?” Kurapika called out, already making his way to the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, Gon nodded excitedly before taking Woble from Killua. The silver-haired teen turned to look at Kurapika.

“Sounds good. Got any soda?”

Taupe irises narrowed. “Soda is unhealthy, Killua.”

He groaned dramatically before crashing onto the couch. “Come on, Kurapika, you’re not my mom,” Killua said, pointedly ignoring the blond’s weak glower. “Besides, you don’t have room to talk, Mr _. I-Drink-Ten-Cups-Of-Coffee-A-Day._ ”

Kurapika exhaled sharply before disappearing into the kitchen. “That’s not going to work on me, mister. It’s milk or water, take it or leave it.”

“Milk? Seriously, not even juice?” Killua made a face. When Kurapika didn’t answer, he sighed. “Fine, fine. Can I have some water, please?”

Kurapika had already prepared him a glass of water, knowing that he would reject the other option. For all the time he’s known him, not once has Kurapika seen Killua drink plain milk. Gon downed whatever he deemed edible, but Killua was slightly pickier. The blond would have pushed him, but being a picky eater himself, it seemed like a hypocritical thing to do.

When he returned, Gon and Killua were lounging on the couch, with Woble sitting quietly on the latter’s lap. Kurapika set their drinks on the coffee table.

“How do you do it?” Kurapika found himself asking as he stared at Killua in awe.

Shrugging, Killua reached towards his glass of water. “I’ve had a lot of practice, I guess.” Makes sense. Kurapika’s never had the pleasure of meeting his entire family, but Alluka and Kalluto seemed like good kids.

Meanwhile, Gon’s sights were darting around the apartment suspiciously, almost as if he was looking for something out of place. Kurapika coughed lightly to gain his attention.

“Is there something wrong?” The blond had a hunch, but he wanted to hear him _say it_. Gon laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh, ah—No,” he replied, now avoiding Kurapika’s piercing gaze. The oldest didn’t push any further. Gon was a notoriously bad liar; all he had to do was wait a few moments before he caved. One second, a bead of sweat rolled down his cheek. Two seconds, his fingers started to fiddle with the hem of his jacket. Exactly three seconds later, the teen grimaced; the jig was up. “Well, Leorio mentioned that something happened to you last week…”

Kurapika rolled his eyes. _Of course_ it was Leorio. “What did he tell you?”

“Nothing bad, really! He just said that someone broke in, and you were really sad because you lost something important to you…” Gon trailed off, a hint of shame and worry lacing his voice. “He asked us to check on you because you don’t answer his texts—”

“ _Oi_ , Gon,” Killua hissed, bonking the back of the other’s head. “That’s enough. You don’t have to go that far—”

“Yes, he does.” Kurapika interjected with an icy glare. Killua shrunk back slightly and grumbled something unintelligible. He knew they were caught red-handed, and fighting back any further was futile when Kurapika had _that_ face on.

Gon gulped. “We just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he admitted, now more determined than a second ago. “You’re strong, and I know you definitely kicked butt, but you _do_ tend to keep things bottled up…” When Kurapika looked at Killua, he nodded in affirmation.

“Yeah, what he said.” Killua lightly bounced Woble on his lap. “We’re friends, right? So, stop being so fu—”

_“Killua.”_

“—fudging stubborn and talk to us,” the silver-haired teen finished with a shit-eating grin, and the blond’s furrowed eyebrows slackened.

…Well, now he just felt like a jerk. Gon and Killua always had his best interests at heart, and pushing them away was incredibly unfair. Kurapika stared at the two teens affectionately and smiled.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it,” the blond said gently with an appreciative bow of his head. Gon beamed back happily while Killua’s features reddened ever-so-slightly.

“You don’t have to be so serious. It’s just common sense,” Killua muttered with a quick roll of his eyes. “But anyway, are you cool with telling us what happened?”

Kurapika glanced at Woble, who had taken to fiddling with the shiny zipper on Killua’s shirt. “Yeah,” he breathed out, nodding to himself. The two teens immediately leaned in, ears open and ready. It seemed like Woble was curious too, for her large, unblinking irises were now trained directly on him. “So, it was Friday, right?”

 

* * *

 

**☾**

 “To what do I owe the pleasure, _Boss_?”

Chrollo entered the dingy room without so much of a glance at Hisoka’s wry grin. Meteor City was hardly the epitome of cleanliness, but the redhead sure loved to pick the weirdest meeting spots. This time, he told Chrollo to go to an abandoned meat packaging factory. He was accustomed to atrocious smells, but he hoped he didn’t have to breathe the repugnant stench of decades-old, rotten innards for too long. If he didn’t know any better, Chrollo would have assumed this was some sort of sick attempt at foreshadowing.

He walked towards what seemed to be a giant refrigerator, nestled cozily between two rusting meat grinders. Hisoka was casually swinging his legs over the edge, looking down at his leader with a wicked glint in his gaze. “I’m not playing around, Number 4,” Chrollo warned. Hisoka clicked his tongue; this was _serious_. “Did you know about the book’s condition before you gave me the target’s information?”

Hisoka shifted to lie down on the cool metal. “Sorry, you’ve got to be clearer than that.”

Chrollo continued to stand there, still as a rock, but those who knew him well always referred to his eyes if they wanted to know what he was thinking. Right now, they were suggesting that Hisoka should choose his next words _very_ carefully. “The book’s worthless. Its former owner treated it like a kid’s menu from Menchi’s.”

“ _Moi_? How could I have known?” Hisoka exclaimed, acting every bit like someone who had just heard the most scandalous piece of gossip. “But that is quite unfortunate,” he eventually admitted with a mocking pout of pity. Chrollo could count the number of times he’s lost his temper on one hand, but Hisoka held the record number of offenses by far.

Chrollo searched Hisoka’s features dubiously before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a box of cigarettes. Without breaking eye contact, he lit one and puffed out a single cloud of smoke. “What exactly did Illumi tell you?”

“Enough to lead you straight to your goal,” the redhead answered with a shrug. “Why so skeptical, hm—?”

“ _What_ did he tell you, Hisoka?” The silence afterwards was almost deafening.

“All right, all right. Sheesh.” Hisoka held his hands up in surrender before jumping down to the ground. He landed gracefully right in front of his taciturn leader, who continued to look completely unimpressed. “He didn’t give me a profile; I’m just as clueless as you are. However, I do know he’s friends with one of the younger Zoldycks. You know, the one with the _gorgeous_ eyes?”

When Chrollo gave him a blank stare, he sighed. “The silver-haired one,” Hisoka continued, now frowning slightly. “You need to get out more.”

Chrollo ignored the last statement to cross his arms in deep thought. What would Kurapika be doing with a family like the Zoldycks? The Phantom Troupe tried to avoid the mafia at all costs, but Illumi had somehow wormed his way into their business, anyway. It probably had to do with the fact that he was sleeping with Hisoka, but that wasn’t something he was willing to discuss at-length any time soon. As he exhaled, faint wisps of residual smoke danced around him lazily. Maybe Kurapika had formed a temporary partnership with the Zoldycks to procure the book from an actual collector.

…But its condition suggested that Kurapika had owned it for quite some time. The book was sullied to the point where he wasn’t even sure if he could sell it for fifty-grand.

Hisoka suddenly stepped forward and boldly plucked the still-burning cigarette straight from Chrollo’s lips. Chrollo glared, but he didn’t move to retrieve it from the redhead’s pale, bony fingers. “I’m just gonna take an educated guess here,” Hisoka murmured as he took a long drag. “You’re not _that_ upset about the book. Rather, you’re perturbed by a certain, blond _someone_.”

Was that what it was? He tried to think back to last Friday, before Kurapika had pepper-sprayed him at point-blank range. When he first entered the apartment, he was intrigued by how barren it was. Intrigued, yes, but not surprised. The blond’s book collection was nothing to scoff at, either, but now that he thought about it, he wasn’t particularly “amazed” by what he found, as if it was a new piece of information.

No. No, the feeling was more akin to… to the warm satisfaction of recalling a long-forgotten memory. He didn’t know it at the time, but somehow, Chrollo _knew_ that Kurapika kept an expansive personal library, and when he saw it, he felt sated, as if his brain simply wanted to confirm the fact. Of course, this wasn’t a realization that came to him right off-the-bat. The moment he caught sight of Kurapika’s large, cat-like eyes, something shifted at the back of his mind, and everything suddenly made _sense._ Chrollo had felt like he should have known it was Kurapika’s home because the clues were so blatantly obvious.

But… how? They’ve never met before. Chrollo would have been able to recall someone who was brazen enough to talk back like he wasn’t the leader of the world’s most-feared band of criminals. Hisoka must have noticed how confused he looked, for he blew a puff of smoke directly at Chrollo’s face.

“Stop fretting so much,” Hisoka remarked, waving the cigarette in a small circle. “You’ll get premature wrinkles if you keep frowning at the wall like that.”

Chrollo glanced at Hisoka absent-mindedly and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You obviously know something that I don’t,” he said, leveling his gaze with Hisoka’s. “How do you know Kurapika? Who _is_ he?”

The redhead dropped his cigarette to the floor and snuffed it out with a quick stomp of his foot. Honestly, Chrollo wasn’t sure why he even bothered asking. For all he knew, Hisoka was plotting to send him on a wild goose chase for shits and giggles. Even if he did end up offering a legitimate answer, Chrollo had no way of knowing if he was playing right into a trap.

The corners of Hisoka’s lips curled upwards. “Try asking me again later,” he suggested lightly as he strolled past Chrollo’s stiff form. “But… if you decide to go ahead and find out for yourself, well, I certainly won't stop you.” Hisoka’s heels clacked against the cold concrete slowly, mockingly – he was daring Chrollo to wrench him back and demand a proper response.

—But he didn’t. Chrollo allowed him to leave, and they both knew why.

Hisoka had just issued a challenge; one that Chrollo’s pride wouldn’t be able to deny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter 4 'Verse Notes:**  
>  -Since everyone is ~2 years older, Woble is going to be bigger, too  
> -Kurapika loves loves _loves_ kids, but Killua's better at handling them sometimes lol  
>  -I like to think that Killua doesn't like milk. Gon's grown slightly taller than him (like, barely half an inch), but no one ever points it out bc he hates it  
> -Menchi and Buhara have a cooking show!!! They also own a restaurant chain haha  
> -Hisoka does know Kurapika, but how? :')  
> -Dragon Hunter Z. Yes, I went there. _Fight me_  
>  -Chrollo low-key hates the taste of tobacco, but he smokes on occasion to relieve stress


	5. and in the beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As long as he was careful, he could definitely pull this off. Kurapika would gain Chrollo’s trust, he would wait until the exact moment where the other man felt safe enough to lower his guard, and just like that, the trap would snap shut.

**✹**

Autumn rolled in relatively quietly. The temperature slightly dropped, and each corner of the city reeked of pumpkin-spiced  _everything_ , but Kurapika had always preferred the crisp fall breeze over the overbearing heat of summer. November meant cute sweaters, beautiful leaves, warm beverages, and lovely books—

November meant that they had a month before finals, and Kurapika was  _not_  about to let anything – or rather, anyone – distract him from nailing his statutes to a T. Judging by the sheer number of caffeinated bodies at the library, the rest of the student body felt the same way.

Next to him, Bill was tapping his pen on the desk impatiently while Linssen was trying his damnedest to tune out the irritating sound. Heaps of flashcards and hastily-scribbled notes were strewn all over the table. Case names, bill numbers, and contract terms were neatly labeled in bright colors. It was easy to distinguish who wrote what. Bill’s penmanship was scratchy and coarse, yet his notes were always incredibly detailed. Kurapika and Linssen favored shorthand, but the latter loved using colorful pens to highlight each main idea. Tserriednich’s absurd assignments stood no chance against their joint efforts.

The only hard part was getting everyone to  _focus_.

“Bill, dude.” Linssen massaged his temples and sighed. “Could you please stop drawing dicks on my cards?”

Bill sent him a bored glance in return. “I’m just keeping you on your toes,” he replied blandly. Kurapika couldn’t blame him. They’ve been at it for hours, yet none of the information was sticking. Sure, they still had a couple of weeks before Doomsday, but Tserriednich’s exams were notorious for making people storm out of the room in tears. It could have been some nasty rumor to scare the underclassmen, but after meeting Hui Guo Rou in the flesh, it was just safer to assume that everything was true.

“Come on,” Kurapika said with a light shake of his head, “the sooner we get this done, the sooner we get to go home. Now,” he picked up the nearest flashcard and took a second to read the side facing him. “Give an example of a statute that can be classified with reference to nature.”

When he looked up, Bill and Linssen were staring at him in shock. A small, wry smirk started to form on the latter’s face, and Kurapika’s heart sank.

“…There’s a penis on the back, isn’t there?”

“Actually, I was gonna say ‘Directory Statute’, but that works too,” Bill remarked proudly, and Linssen groaned.

“You’re  _adorable_ , but Hui Guo Rou’s not going to take your phallic art as an answer,” Linssen admonished him flatly, which Bill promptly ignored. Meanwhile, Kurapika regarded the two with a tired frown. To be completely honest, it was a very well-drawn penis, and at this stage, they were already used to Bill’s antics. But thanks to a certain tattooed thief, his tolerance for dawdling around is now a fraction of what it used to be, not that he had that much patience for it to begin with. The moment Bill caught sight of the weary look in Kurapika’s eyes, something akin to guilt flitted across his features.

Straightening his back, Bill plucked the flashcard out of Kurapika’s fingers. “Hey, don’t stress too much, yeah? You always do great. This test won’t be any different.” Bill wasn’t very expressive by nature, but there were moments where his voice took on a warmth that could rival Leorio’s.

“He’s got a point, you know.” Linssen leaned against the palm of his hand and nodded affirmatively. When the tiniest of smiles appeared on his lips, Kurapika couldn’t help but mirror the rare sight.

“Sorry, I know I’m a little out of it. A lot’s been going on lately.” Maybe ‘a little’ was a bit of an understatement, considering he had accidentally poured milk on top of his eggs that morning. Kurapika hated the idea of letting his exhaustion get the best of him, but between his relentless workload and Chrollo’s taunts haunting his dreams, he couldn’t sleep for more than three hours at a time. “I’m not trying to take it out on you guys, I promise—"

A strange sensation pricked his face; Bill had flicked him on the forehead. “Seriously, Kurapika, don’t sweat it. It happens to the best of us.” When Kurapika caught the quiet understanding in their gazes, he released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Anyway, shall we continue?”

Hours passed at a snail’s pace, but as time went by, more and more people started to leave the library. This didn’t surprise any of them in the slightest. Finals Week wasn’t until late December, so few endeavored to start cramming this early. When Kurapika took a quick scan of the room, he smiled bitterly to himself. It was now eleven at night, and the stark majority of patrons were also in Tserriednich’s class. Figures. They were practically gearing up for an expedition to hell, after all.

To make matters worse, the placid atmosphere transformed into something frigid and unsettling. The faintest of chills threatened to shoot down their spines.  _Caution, danger, terror_  descended upon them in waves. They knew that  _he_  was approaching, but no one had the guts to search the premises to confirm their fears. Linssen tensed up immediately and buried his nose in a textbook. Bill and Kurapika shared a knowing, concerned look. “Stay sharp,” Bill whispered after a moment, eyes pointed at the wall ahead. “Tserriednich the Terrible, coming in at six o’clock.”

Kurapika’s fingernails dug into his palms, forming crescent-shaped marks in their wake. “You’ve  _got_  to be kidding me…”

Turns out the universe wasn’t kidding around. The low pit-pat of his footsteps paused, and the uncomfortable feeling that had plagued the room was now concentrated right behind them. “Fancy seeing my three best students here,” Tserriednich drawled out, and the sound of his voice nearly made Kurapika cringe. “Do you like to study here often?”

Bill clenched his jaw and Linssen remained as silent as usual, but Kurapika wasn’t willing to go down without a fight. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to,” he found himself saying, tone eerily even. The two gaped at him for a second, bewildered by the fact that Kurapika had just talked back to the literal reincarnation of some sort of demon. Even Tserriednich himself seemed surprised if the curious raise of his eyebrows were any hint.

But Kurapika quickly realized that he had made a mistake. Surprise morphed into some sort of atrocious amusement, and Tserriednich gave him a goosebump-inducing, hair-raising smile which reduced his cold eyes to mere slits.

“I don’t quite catch what you’re trying to imply, but I apologize if I’m being too forward.” Kurapika would have glared if he could. That was complete bullshit. Everyone knew that Hui Guo Rou had a disgusting habit of following some of his pupils around campus. Kurapika would know. He’s caught Tserriednich trailing him on more than one occasion.

Kurapika’s mouth opened to retort, but Linssen’s low voice gave him pause. “Not at all, sir.” His dark irises were blank, probably to hide the fear that struck the hearts of anyone who had the misfortune of encountering this man. Indignation began to bloom in the blond’s stomach, but one look at Linssen’s twitching fingers was enough to convince him to keep his temper in check.

If the thick tension made Hui Guo Rou uncomfortable in any capacity, it didn’t show. “I’m glad you’re treating this exam with the seriousness it deserves. Far too many students in the past had made the mistake of underestimating me.” This time, Kurapika really did shiver. Something about Tserriednich’s statement made the warning bells in his brain ring with abandon. His gut was telling him that there was a deeper meaning to his words.

“…Well, we’re definitely not like those kids, right, guys?” Now Bill is the one who mustered the courage to respond. He’s sweating profusely, and under the table, his foot is tapping against the floor as if he was pumping himself up for a 10k, but he meets Tserriednich’s stare with an admirable amount of bravery. Simultaneously, Kurapika and Linssen nodded once.

“How do you feel about the test, Kurapika?” Beady black eyes were now pointed straight at the blond. He was going to ignore how gross it felt to hear his name roll off the other’s tongue. It was vile, absolutely repulsive. At least Chrollo could pinpoint which syllables to accentuate—

He frowned to himself. That was  _not_  something he should be thinking about right now.

Kurapika swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m sure I can speak for all of us when I say that no one is anticipating a stroll in the park. Some degree of rigor is to be expected." The blond paused briefly to calm his erratic heartbeat. "However, I’m confident we’ll be thoroughly prepared when the time comes,” he answered Tserriednich almost robotically, and he tried to focus on the bridge of his nose because direct eye contact was sure to crumble his resolve. Either way, Hui Guo Rou looked like he was satisfied, and Kurapika wished he could feel some semblance of relief.

“Good answer. There are some things in this world that must be earned through hard work. Knowledge is one of them.” Tserriednich was addressing all three of them, but his stare was fixated on Kurapika, and Kurapika alone. The blond felt like a caged animal who had been set up for display, but he’d rather fail the damn class than show his growing anxiety. A minute of silence passed, and when Hui Guo Rou’s eyes lit up with an all-too-familiar gleam, Kurapika’s instincts told him to be on his guard.

Tserriednich smiled. “Other things are blessed upon a select few. For example, greatness. Fortune.” He took a single step towards Kurapika and laid a firm hand on his shoulder. Kurapika couldn’t breathe. “Beauty.”

His fingers dug in ever-so-slightly; the contact froze his nerves, ceased his thoughts. Kurapika hoped that was the end of it, but then he felt something brush against the hair at the nape at his neck, and the line was crossed. Politeness be damned, Kurapika grabbed his wrist and pried him off. Linssen’s mouth was pressed into a thin line while Bill’s gaze blazed with restrained outrage. Again, he couldn’t blame him. It took every ounce of will-power in Kurapika’s body to not drop-kick this creep into the next dimension.

The ominous curl of his lips didn’t disappear, but he did back off somewhat. “Ah, well— I’m afraid I’m going to have to take my leave. I have a meeting to attend, but I wish you three the best of luck.” The entire room watched as he strolled off without a care in the world, as if he didn’t just touch a student inappropriately for the billionth time. After an eternity, the faint click of the main door could be heard, and everyone visibly relaxed.

Bill scoffed. “A meeting? The fuck’s he talking about? It’s almost midnight.”

“I bet he’s actually a vampire and it’s time for him to feed,” Linssen replied almost too quietly. The poor guy was still shaking.

The fact that the school allowed Tserriednich to do whatever he damned well pleased was _so_ infuriating! Kurapika was sure he had enough misconduct reports to fill this room a thousand times over. At this rate, the man would have to be caught in the middle of a murder to be fired, and even then, he wasn’t sure if the Board was just going to cover it up with some ridiculous excuse.

His skin was protected under several layers of clothing, but Hui Guo Rou’s touch continued to linger. He’d have to take a good, long shower when he got home.

 

 

 

 

 

Like always, it was two-thirty in the morning when Kurapika reached his apartment complex. As he opened the door, he was greeted by the cool air of the AC—

Kurapika paused. The AC? He never turned it on at night.

Locking the door behind him, Kurapika peered at the thermostat curiously. Had he forgotten to turn it off before he left? The blond deflated slightly; he couldn’t afford a high electricity bill, especially since he was going to have the heater running during wintertime. Sighing, he reached up to flick the switch from ON to OFF—

“Oh, wait, no. It’s really hot in here, and I don’t do very well in the heat. Actually, heat is okay, but humidity is the bane of my existence, so could you please leave it alone for a moment?”

Kurapika made an odd choked sound at the back of his throat. Part of him wanted to turn around to chuck the nearest object at the one person who could make his blood boil within a fourth of a second, but he wasn’t sure if the other man was armed. He could throw a spoon at his face and get shot at or stabbed in return. Economics wasn't required for his degree, but Kurapika was sure that the marginal cost most definitely outweighed any possible benefits.

The Kurta urged himself to take a deep breath as he pulled his cell phone out of the recesses of his pocket. If Chrollo was trying to get a rise out of him, it wasn’t going to work. Kurapika wasn’t obligated to respond; all he had to do was call the police—

“If you’re calling the police, I hope you know I’ll be long gone before they show up. They’ll just accuse you of crying wolf,” Chrollo stated with a slight tilt of his head. “I’ve escaped from worse.”

A hundred thoughts raced through Kurapika’s mind, and ninety-nine of them cursed the thief in a variety of languages. “I don’t doubt it.” Kurapika locked his phone irately. “What do you want?” The sooner he was gone, the sooner Kurapika could shower and sleep for a _lovely_ two-to-three hours.

“To talk.”

“Are you sure about that? If you’re looking for more stuff to steal, I’d prefer to hear the truth.” He hoped that wasn’t the case. Kurapika liked to keep a limit on his possessions, and the few he held on to carried important memories. Not that the man in front of him would know. To him, they were probably just stupid wooden knick-knacks.

Chrollo blinked. "I just wanted to visit my friend. Tell me, Mr. Lawyer, is that a crime?"

"One, we're not friends," Kurapika growled, suddenly feeling as if he wouldn't have minded if he'd popped a major vein and died on the spot. "Two, there's this thing called  _breaking and entering_ , so yes, it is a crime!"

The other man’s lips curled upwards, and Kurapika wondered why the sight wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as one of Tserriednich’s sneers. “You’re right on both accounts, I suppose,” Chrollo admitted easily, somewhat distracted by the thick tome in his hands, “But if you’re still attached to that book of yours, you might want to hear me out.”

Kurapika sent him a cold glare, the intensity of which was only a fraction of the frustration he felt in his fingers and toes. “I thought I made myself clear. Unless you’re returning it, I don’t really care about anything else you have to say.”

“What if it’s a possibility?”

A possibility, but not a guarantee; the blond didn’t miss his careful choice of words. Under normal circumstances, that would’ve marked the end of the conversation. Kurapika wasn’t about to play one of his stupid games. Yet… his mind hummed, and his chest tightened peculiarly when he opened his mouth to say no. Kurapika wasn’t exactly sure why he felt like he needed to listen to his request. Perhaps it was out of curiosity, or maybe he was craving a good laugh? Or maybe it was the earnest glint in Chrollo’s slate irises. Kurapika suddenly found it difficult to meet his stare. “…Make it quick.”

Chrollo let out a pleased hum. “I’m a simple man. If I have a question, naturally, I’d want the answer. I think we’re similar in that regard.”

“That’s rich,” Kurapika spat with a contemptuous laugh, “I have nothing in common with a lowly burglar.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Chrollo deadpanned, rolling his eyes. “Anyway— hm, how do I say this? You intrigue me—”

“If this is some sad attempt at a confession, you might as well leave right now.”

Chrollo's face twisted into a grimace. “Hardly. You’re easy on the eyes, but your personality could use a  _lot_  of work.” Kurapika bristled at the backhanded compliment. They barely met less than half a month ago; Chrollo had no room to talk! …And why did his thinly-veiled insult offend him so much?

Kurapika willed his perplexing thoughts away with a hard stare. “Did you break into my apartment just to taunt me, or…?”

“No. I could just call or text you to do that,” Chrollo pointed out, waving his own cell phone in the air. “But as I was saying, something happened two weeks ago, and I want to know what it was.”

As much as Kurapika wanted to maintain his intransigent front, there was no stopping his slow, baffled blink. “Well. You robbed me?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he interrupted with a dismissive hand gesture, and Kurapika’s mouth fell open because he did  _not_ just act like that was no big deal, “but there was something else. Don’t you feel any different?”

“I suppose I do,” Kurapika responded after a moment. “My blood-pressure’s higher than usual. I’m tired, irritable—”

“—Is that not how you usually are?”

“ _No!_ ” Kurapika hissed, and Chrollo looked insufferably smug, as if he’d just proven his point. “Okay, I don’t know what you’re getting at. What are you talking about?”

This conversation would be so much easier if Chrollo looked more like—well, a villain. If he was as obnoxious as Hui Guo Rou, disregarding him would be effortless, but there wasn’t a trace of malice on the other man’s visage. Chrollo was patient, and while Kurapika was perfectly capable of being civil, it was almost three in the morning, and he was afraid he was going to start thinking about how the lamplight highlighted his cheekbones—

Again,  _bad thoughts_. Thankfully, Chrollo didn’t comment on his sudden silence. “So, you don’t have the indescribable urge to know more about me?”

“You give yourself too much credit, Lucilfer.” Kurapika could only recall the extreme contempt that threatened to override his senses when he thought about him. …Not that he ever thought about Chrollo willingly,  _of course not._

Kurapika resisted the urge to squirm as Chrollo observed him quietly. “I don’t blame you for your confusion. Truthfully, I don’t know how to put it into words, either.” He closed the tome in his hands and placed it on the coffee table. “Let’s see if this helps. My instincts are telling me to keep an eye on you. I don’t think you’re a threat, but it’s difficult to concentrate on more important matters when I’m being pestered with… whatever this is.”

“I don’t think I heard you correctly,” Kurapika muttered dubiously, “You want me… to help you?”

Chrollo smiled again. “Did I stutter?”

“No, but I do think you forgot about what you’ve done.” With newfound conviction, Kurapika crossed his arms and met Chrollo’s piercing gaze head-on. “I’m not willing to spare what little time I have just to get you to sort out your feelings.” He really wasn’t. This guy literally knocked him out, and now he was asking him to be his personal therapist? The whole situation was worthy of its own film adaptation.

“Understandable. But if you’re successful—”

“If I succeed, you’re going to return my book. Predictable, you are. I figured you’d hold it over me,” Kurapika interjected vapidly, causing Chrollo to raise a single eyebrow in amusement. “Couldn’t come up with anything more creative? Regardless, I don’t know if you’re lying. You could have sold it to some collector by now. I know how much it’s worth.”

“And you didn’t keep it more heavily-guarded?” Chrollo asked as he shifted to lean against the back of the couch.

Kurapika couldn’t hold back his hurt frown. “I’m not talking about its monetary value. I could care less.”

He wasn’t sure if Chrollo was capable of experiencing guilt, but if his momentary silence meant anything, Kurapika hoped he had struck a nerve. “If that was true, you’d consider my offer. I’m willing to hand it over with no strings attached.”

Kurapika scoffed and looked away. “That last bit is definitely a lie.” Chrollo was a mystery, but there were some things that would never change. For instance, the fact that he was a highly-wanted criminal who’s probably used to distorting the truth to get what he wants.

“…All right, you got me there,” he had the audacity to confess with a casual shrug. “My only condition is that you cannot attempt to contact any type of law enforcement. I’m not asking you to meet me anywhere seedy. I just want to talk, and on your turf, to boot.”

The request sounded reasonable enough, but it still didn’t make any sense. Chrollo had no way of monitoring his behavior… or, Kurapika hoped he didn’t. And why was he willing to travel so far from the RAZ for such a simple task? “You’re going through all this trouble just because you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes,” Chrollo answered within a single heartbeat, and his voice was so clear, so naïve, Kurapika nearly fell for whatever façade he was trying to pull.

Keyword was  _‘nearly’_. “…Seriously? Just to talk?”

Something suspiciously close to a leer began to manifest itself on Chrollo’s face. “Are you implying—”

“No! Gods, no,” Kurapika quickly interrupted, and curse it all, he could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks already. He was by no means a virgin, but his friends always said he was a bit of a prude. “But… if we figure out what’s bothering you, you’ll give it back, right?”

The other man nodded cordially. “That’s what I said.”

Minutes passed before Kurapika regained his train of thought. On one hand, he’d have to put up with Chrollo’s foolish nonsense for an unknown amount of time. However, this agreement could give him valuable insight, information that no one else has managed to gather before. If Kurapika played his cards right, he would have access to enough intel to knock him down a few pegs, maybe even turn him in for good. “…I don’t understand you.”

Something unfamiliar flickered across Chrollo’s features, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. “Neither do I, but I want to change that, and I think you’re the best person to turn to.”

“Even though I pepper-sprayed you?”

“Especially because you pepper-sprayed me,” he teased with yet another one of his infuriating grins, and Kurapika chose to ignore how boyishly young he looked in that moment.

Perhaps the answer was obvious, but the blond felt the need to ask, “What happens if I try to alert the authorities?”

“Life will go on,” Chrollo said, words deceptively smooth and oozing with self-confidence. He doesn’t have to verbally point-out that his efforts would be in vain. “Do be warned, I can’t guarantee your protection from the rest of the Troupe.”

Well, there goes his other out, but Kurapika felt more certain than ever before. Chrollo was a wild card, but he had weaknesses, just like anyone else. As long as he was careful, he could definitely pull this off. Kurapika would gain Chrollo’s trust, he would wait until the exact moment where the other man felt safe enough to lower his guard, and just like that, the trap would snap shut. Kurapika knew he had the chance of a lifetime, and passing it up would be a complete waste.

Taupe irises hardened with resoluteness. His mind was made up.

“I despise you.”

“And you are a ray of sunshine,” Chrollo remarked, eyes twinkling impishly, and Kurapika inwardly groaned. Maybe it wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.

“But I accept.” Kurapika declared without a hitch of hesitation, “Not because I pity you, though. This arrangement ends the second you return what is mine.” As soon as he had it back in his grasp, it was game over for this smug bastard.

“Of course. I didn’t expect anything else.” And damn him for canting his head like that, as if he hadn't committed a single wrong-doing in his life.

Exhaling softly, Kurapika hung his shoulder bag on a hook and leaned against the wall. It was clear he wasn’t going to sleep that night, so he made his way to the kitchen to prepare a pot of coffee. Entirely for himself, of course. “So, what do you want to start with?”

With Kurapika's luck, the other man was going to ask about something remarkably embarrassing or personal. 

Color him surprised when he learned that wasn't the case at all. “Something small…” Chrollo murmured with a thoughtful hum. Upon Kurapika’s return, he moved to the left and patted the empty seat beside him. “Why don’t you tell me your full name?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Ch. 5 'Verse Notes:**  
>  -Bill's the oldest out of the three, and he's kind of like an older brother figure  
> -Linssen used to be much more cowardly when they first met, but he's learning to be more confident :')  
> -Linssen also has an entire bag dedicated to his collection of colorful pens. It helps him stay organized!  
> -Kurapika's first was Leorio, hence why he's not a virgin  
> -Starting from here on out, there are going to be a lot of references to ["It Came out of Nowhere"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14778609), so I highly suggest giving it a quick read. It's very short. :')


	6. shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there’s a deity or some cosmic force out in the universe that has a grand plan in store for Kurapika, he’s begging them to take a step back to reconsider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Huge thanks to Laviente for being my beta reader!_

**✹**

Chrollo’s relaxing on the couch without a care in the world, and Kurapika kind of wants to set himself on fire.

“My name?” Kurapika echoes back incredulously, because Chrollo had just succeeded in making a strange situation even stranger. “Why?”

“You know mine,” Chrollo answers with an off-handed shrug, attention already focused elsewhere. He’s casually examining the pictures that hang above his television with muted interest. There’s nothing particularly revealing about his graduation headshot or Pairo’s ridiculous selfie, but his scrutinizing stare is invasive enough, and Kurapika already feels like he knows _too much_. “Also, it seems like a natural starting point. Or do you greet everyone you meet with a friendly spray of mace?”

Kurapika snorts into his mug. “That’s hardly fair. Everyone knows who you are, what you’re a part of. I don’t see how revealing my surname would benefit me in any way.”

“But that’s where you’re mistaken,” is the response he gets, easy-going and condescending all at once, and Kurapika has to hold himself back from dumping his now-cold coffee on the other’s head. “To the media, I’m barely a concept. You’re part of a select few who can put a face to my name.” Chrollo turns to grin at him. “Consider yourself lucky.”

Kurapika doesn’t care enough to retort. Or, he wishes he didn’t, but there’s a red-hot riposte waiting to be unleashed, sitting on the tip of his tongue. It’s bad enough they’re sitting and chatting like old schoolmates at a reunion, like Kurapika hadn’t been _robbed at swordpoint_ for a children’s book, of all things. But he’d be damned if he gave Chrollo the satisfaction, so Kurapika settles for swallowing the barbs with a quick gulp of his drink.

And there’s no way Chrollo could’ve caught onto his hesitation because he’s too busy leafing through an almanac (which, Kurapika notes with much alarm, wasn’t in his hands a moment earlier—he isn’t quite sure when Chrollo had nabbed it from his bookshelf). But Chrollo’s smile doesn’t waver and he’s waiting _expectantly_ , almost as if he knows what’s going through Kurapika’s head and he’s just waiting for Kurapika to man up and _say it_.

“Ask a different question,” Kurapika eventually dismisses with a roll of his eyes. Sure, it’s three in the morning, and sure, he’s almost out of coffee—but most importantly, he is _not_ as predictable as Chrollo thinks he is. Regardless of the other’s infamy, Chrollo is traipsing on _his_ turf, and if he has to attend class without a wink of sleep, well—that’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make if it meant giving Chrollo absolute hell. “You’ll have to earn that one.”

“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” There’s the slightest hint of a frown on his face, shown only in the crease between his brows and the minute downturn of his lips. Kurapika can’t help but count it as a small victory.

And no one’s ever accused Kurapika of having an excess of patience, so he doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt when he straightens his shoulders and gives Chrollo a glower that can freeze fire. “Give me a reason to,” Kurapika says with a nonchalant scoff, because two can easily play this game and he isn’t the losing type.

Chrollo huffs like he’s fond. “Very well, then.”

 

 

 

 

 

If there’s a deity or some cosmic force out in the universe that has a grand plan in store for Kurapika, he’s begging them to take a step back to reconsider.

Two weeks had passed since their bizarre re-encounter. Chrollo doesn’t visit him again, but his presence still lingers—over his shoulders, in the back of his mind—and it’s almost enough to drive Kurapika insane.

The details are a bit muddy in his addled, sleep-deprived brain, but he vaguely remembers Chrollo slipping out the balcony doors at seven AM (which was completely unnecessary—his front door works _just fine_ ), and when his alarm rang approximately fifteen minutes later, Kurapika had almost considered calling Leorio or Bill because he was a hair’s breadth away from contemplating the pros and cons of murder.

...Except, law firms don’t really hire people with lifetime sentences, so he draws the line at sketching out an elaborate plan in his head. And it makes Kurapika wonder if his shit-tier luck is genetic or a special talent of his. After all, he’d somehow gotten roped into corresponding with one of the world’s most dangerous criminals for a chance to recover a book he had probably drooled all over when he was six. At this point, Kurapika can’t decide if he’s acting really impulsive or really typical of himself.

(But on the bright side, he’s still _here_ , breathing and breaking his kneecaps over Tserriednich’s class. He supposes he’ll just have to thank his ancestors for not leading him into the clutches of a mass-murderer, or something.)

He’s standing and waiting on the platform for the Blue Line when his phone buzzes in his pocket. One buzz becomes two, yet he doesn’t move to check who messaged him because a bicyclist had knocked his coffee out of his hands an hour ago, and he doesn’t trust himself to _not_ chuck the device onto the railroad tracks.

Leaving home was hard, and so was studying for the LSAT. Growing accustomed to Chrollo’s presence in his life, though? It was so easy— _too easy_ , and it’s fucking laughable. They had fallen into this weird, sitcom-esque type of routine which involved late-night conversations and sporadic, random texts. The situation could’ve been kind of cute, really—but it’s not like Kurapika’s sending electronic declarations of love to a cute boy he had met at a coffee shop. Chrollo’s a burglar with a horrifically-impressive list of past targets, and ‘fresh out of jail’ isn’t exactly Kurapika’s type.

And sometimes he finds his thumb hovering over the block button because all this bullshit can end with _one simple tap_ , but an odd mixture of pride and curiosity always holds him fast. It’s nothing complicated, Kurapika likes to think; he just doesn’t want to be the first one to cave. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit intrigued by—well, whatever the hell Chrollo was willing to divulge.

An automated ding rings through the air, signaling the approaching train. Things could be much worse. He could be dead, for one. Chrollo could be forcing him to strip naked like some C-grade porno. But he isn’t. If he closes his eyes and sets his frustration to the side, Kurapika can reluctantly admit that Chrollo is weirdly… pleasant. For a criminal, of course.

His questions aren’t uncomfortably probing. He calls at the stupidest times and he never capitalizes the beginnings of his texts, but he never tries to push anything out of Kurapika, and that’s interesting. Because his friends are everything to him, but they can be a little overbearing when they’re excited, and it’s just— _odd_ how a home invader is the one who exhibits the most patience with him.

And then there’s the bad, like how Chrollo had somehow managed to wrap his grubby little hands around Kurapika’s cell phone to alter a few settings without his knowledge. His ringtone (a personal one, of course, because Kurapika’s default bell chimes weren’t good enough for him) is some guitar riff from a song Killua loves. It’s loud, disruptive, and Kurapika hates it, but he doesn’t change it back because he hates _him_ , too.

It’s the last thing he wants to hear while he’s sandwiched between two sweaty construction workers, but the gods are cruel and he’s getting used to plans going awry, so Kurapika doesn’t blink as he unlocks his screen to read his notifications.

 

 **[9:13 AM]** good morning. sleep well?

 **[9:13 AM]** i know i did

 

 **[9:18 AM]** What do you want?

 

 **[9:19 AM]** breakfast sounds good

 **[9:20 AM]** but in all seriousness, i have a question

 

 **[9:22]** That’s nothing new. Hurry up, what is it?

 

 **[9:23 AM]** who is tserriednich?

 

Kurapika nearly chokes on his saliva, and it’s equal parts disgusting and unsurprising how even a mere mention of Tserriednich could douse his nerves in ice water. His fingers are flying across the screen before he can think better of it.

 

 **[9:23 AM]** ...How do you know about him?

 

 **[9:24 AM]** you mentioned him a couple nights ago, before you crashed

 **[9:24 AM]** did you know about your tendency to snore past 4 am? it’s quite endearing

 

 **[9:25 AM]** He’s no one important.

 **[9:25 AM]** ...and I do not.

 

 **[9:26 AM]** whatever helps you sleep at night.

 **[9:27 AM]** and i would be inclined to believe you if you didn’t sound outright murderous. an ex-lover, perhaps?

 

He hesitates, if only for a moment. Because his stop is coming up soon and there’s a baby wailing its lungs out, and he realizes there isn’t any harm in indulging Chrollo, not really. Biting his lip, he taps out a quick reply before shoving his phone back into his pocket.

 

 **[9:28 AM]** He’s my professor. He’s a terrible man, and I wouldn’t mind if he broke a leg, to be completely honest.

 

Kurapika doesn’t take the time to ponder over the legality of low-key threatening his professor—he’s, like, ninety-nine percent sure the entire class feels the same way. It isn’t his fault that Tserriednich’s the stuff of _nightmares,_ with his blood-curdling sneers and far-from-professional touches. Every fiber of his being reeks of entitlement, and he’s put himself on some sort of pedestal, like he’s supposed to be untouchable or some shit. Which is ridiculous because tenure be damned, he’s made of flesh and bone—he’s human, just like the rest of them.

...But he’s untouchable in the way that he’s an esteemed researcher in his field who has the most disturbing fascination with Kurapika, and that’s a problem.

The Mature Thing™ to do probably entails sitting down for a serious one-to-one with Tserriednich in a stuffy administrative office. Kurapika would have to present his concerns in a calm, adult-like manner while ignoring how his cashmere sweater prickles his skin because he had bought it at a thrift store a few months back. And it’s not like Kurapika’s opposed to having a conversation like the grown-ups they are, but Tserriednich’s shameless ogling is more than a little distracting. One wrong move, one repulsive, lecherous look would be a sufficient reason for Kurapika to stand up from his seat and sucker punch him for all of his past transgressions.

It’s a fun little fantasy, but it’ll have to remain just that—a fantasy. Because he’s strapped on cash as it is and he can’t afford to get sued on top of his bills.

Kurapika glances out the window as the train zooms by a billboard for dog shampoo. They’re about to pull into Central Park Station and he needs to ready himself to wrestle his way towards the doors, but his fingers are twitching like he has a bad itch.

And it’s scarily effortless, how he reaches for his phone to check if Chrollo had replied.

 

 **[9:30 AM]** he sounds unpleasant. i hope he doesn’t give you too much trouble. if you ever need to let out some steam, my ears are always open

 **[9:31 AM]** also, i’ve been meaning to ask. would it be alright if i dropped by this evening? you’re free to decline, but i prefer talking in-person

 

He’s frowning as he reads the message once, then twice, then three times. It’s a little too late for that, but Chrollo’s sincerity catches him off-guard and something in him flutters, slow and warm—yet confusing, all the same.

Kurapika’s about to respond when the intercom buzzes to life. It’s his only warning before the sliding doors open with a creak, and then the crowd _shifts_ , ready to spill out like a tidal wave. People are shoving at his back, grumbling and cursing, and Kurapika’s mind is already focused on surviving as he hurriedly punches out a half-assed answer to a question he probably should have paid more attention to.

 **[9:34 AM]** sure whatever

 

* * *

 

**☾**

Chrollo doesn’t know why he’s smiling when he puts his phone down, but he’s not perturbed enough to question it. He’s been doing that a lot lately, now that he thinks about it. Smiling without a proper cause, getting lost in his own thoughts, and it’s new. Because talking to Kurapika is as natural as breathing, and there’s something gratifying in getting to know him, like he’s piecing together a puzzle or finding the ins and outs of a riddle.

Shalnark’s typing away on his desktop, half-distracted by a livestream that’s running on his second monitor, half-focused on the military database he’s cracking just because. He doesn’t turn around when Chrollo approaches him from behind—the only acknowledgment he gives is a flash of a grin, and then he’s back to mining the social security numbers of Padokea’s generals.

Chrollo leans against the wall, hands in his pockets, eyes focused somewhere far away. “He goes by Tserriednich. Think you could work with that?”

“That’s a pretty nasty name, but sure, I’ll do it,” Shalnark says with a thoughtful hum, jotting down the information on a neon pink sticky note. “Who is he, anyway?”

“Someone I’m curious about,” Chrollo replies after a brief pause. But they’ve known each other since they were old enough to steal extra rations on the daily, and Shalnark’s gutsy enough to shoot him a sly, knowing grin.

“Speaking of, I’m surprised you haven’t asked me to run a background check on Mr. Lawyer yet,” he chirps absentmindedly, although Chrollo’s positive he’s on the lookout for even the slightest tell. “Are you sure you don’t wanna reconsider?”

“I’m sure, Shalnark. But I appreciate the offer.” His answer comes easy, and it’s probably highly suspicious; he’s not known for taking the longer, roundabout route in regards to—well, anything. All he’s certain of is that Kurapika’s a mystery, and he wants to figure him out for himself.

Because Kurapika’s intriguing in the way that he keeps Chrollo on edge with his words and mannerisms alone. He’s faced mafia bosses and presidents, infiltrated mansions and embassies. There isn’t a lock on this planet he can’t pick, and if he were to be completely honest, he was growing bored with the lack of a proper challenge.

—But then Kurapika just sort of happened, and now he’s gearing up for what feels like his greatest heist yet.

“Man, I haven’t seen you this determined since we tried to put Fei on that diet,” Shalnark laughs as he spins around in his chair, “remember that?”

Feitan looks up from his banged-up Gameboy with an icy sneer. “Choke.”

“What a swell guy,” Shalnark says, sighing contentedly. “Anyway, I’ll have the report back to you by tomorrow. Sound good?”

Chrollo quietly pockets his cell phone, pretending like he isn’t disappointed when it doesn’t buzz with an unread message. “Perfect.”

 

* * *

 

**✹**

“Worst fear?”

“Water.”

The pot Kurapika’s washing slips out of his grasp, crashing against the sink with a loud clang. _“What?”_

“I don’t know how to swim,” Chrollo admits blandly, reclining against the back of his sofa. The late-night game show he’s watching fills the awkward silence between them, because what the hell is Kurapika supposed to say to that? “And the ocean unsettles me. Always has.” Reds and greens and blues paint the unreadable expression on his face. Kurapika isn’t sure what bothers him more: Chrollo’s sudden change in mood, or the fact that he _wants_ to know what’s bothering him. “I hope you’re not getting any ideas.”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous,” Kurapika shakes his head stiffly—the realization that Chrollo _might_ be a normal person makes his chest tighten uncomfortably, “I can kind of relate. I hate boats.”

Chrollo’s lips curl ever-so-slightly—he’s either amused by the man who had fallen into a pit of slime or the note of embarrassment in Kurapika’s voice. “Boats.”

“I get seasick easily.” And that’s that.

Because Kurapika doesn’t see the need to explain how his breath catches in his throat whenever he steps onto the ferry that takes them across the bay, how anxiety’s cold touch freezes his joints, rendering him helpless. It’s been this way for as long as he can remember, and it _sucks_. If Chrollo’s expecting him to spill his heart out in a similar manner, he’s got his middle finger locked and loaded as a reminder that it’s _none of his business._

But when Kurapika emerges from the kitchen, hands slightly damp from doing the dishes, Chrollo’s eyes are soft, almost understanding, and he doesn’t say a word. Their gazes meet for the briefest of seconds before he directs his attention back to his show, and Kurapika wonders why he’s struck with an abrupt wave of what can only be described as—

—sorrow?

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to visit more often,” Chrollo mentions as Kurapika takes a seat on the furthest end of the couch. “This feels more natural.”

“I’m surprised you even asked. If I say no, would that stop you?” Kurapika asks, tone flat, because he doesn’t need to have a law degree to know that his opinion isn’t worth a single jenny.

“Probably not,” Chrollo chimes in predictably.

“Typical.” The contestant on TV screams as they’re knocked off a wooden pole, and—why are they even watching this? “There’s no point for me to answer you, then.”

“Admit it,” Chrollo chuckles; it’s a low, chill-inducing kind of noise, and it does nothing to placate the rush that shoots down Kurapika’s spine, “this isn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be, now is it?”

It’s not often he’s rendered speechless—people are easy to refute, that’s why he’s in law school in the first place. But then he thinks about how he hasn’t threatened to call the police at all within these past few days, and he’s confused all over again. Because he’s in pajamas and it’s two in the morning, and Kurapika’s just a tad mortified as the truth dawns on him with the carefulness of a semi-truck. He’s got a shit ton of stuff to worry about—finals week, making rent on time, disposing of the rotten milk that’s stinking up his fridge, and if he dwells on this any further, Kurapika might just freak out because he can’t pinpoint the exact moment when Chrollo became a _minor_ annoyance on his list.

Which is fine. Contrary to popular belief, he’s not angry 24/7. But what _isn’t_ fine is the lingering, torturous thought that maybe, just maybe, he can tolerate his presence for just a little longer.

“Ask a different question,” Kurapika grumbles, sinking deeper into his corner—he’d rather _die_ than admit anything that could be used against him.

He pushes Chrollo’s infuriating smile out of his mind as he focuses on the announcer with the obnoxious green suit, and he vows to uproot whatever the hell’s growing between them before it has the chance to sprout.

 

* * *

 

_“That’s just convoluted, even for you. You could save so much time if you killed him now.”_

_“Patience, dear. Good things come to those who wait.”_

_“Of course, but half of the steps in your plan are completely unnecessary. Why are you even bothering—“_

_“Jealous, are we?”_

_“I’m sure you’d like that.”_

_“The destination’s only as good as the journey, and I want to milk this for what it’s worth.”_

_“...Just make sure Kil doesn’t get dragged into this.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI I'M SORRY THIS TOOK TEN THOUSAND YEARS!!!! But here it is!!! Also, please let me know if you guys are okay with this new style! Is it good? Bad? :')
> 
>  **Chapter 6 'Verse Notes:**  
>  -Feitan and Phinks collect all sorts of old game systems!  
> -Chrollo's fear of water and Kurapika's fear of boats? :') ........  
> -Chrollo still sneaks in through the balcony door, even if Kurapika leaves the front door open  
> -Blue Line? Desideratum anyone? :'D  
> -I like to think Chrollo uses a lot of emojis, and Kurapika hates it  
> -Shalnark was watching a livestream of a game like Fortnite

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my ~first ever~ AU! ...It's also my very first /coherent/ multichap fic, so we'll see how this goes, haha.........
> 
> I'll also be including some fun little tidbits at the end of each chapter, since I like to think about really dumb things. :')
> 
> Thanks for stopping by! If you have any thoughts/opinions/suggestions, please leave a comment, and I'll get back to you asap! I read every single message, so anything you have to say is much appreciated! ♥
> 
> **8/7/18: ALSO, quick announcement! We're trying to hold a Kurokura Week for 2018! If you're interested, feel free to follow us on[Tumblr](https://kurokuraweek2018.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kurokuraweek)! Thank you for your support! ♥**
> 
> If you wanna talk, feel free to find me on **[Tumblr](http://piyo-nii.tumblr.com/) | [FFN](https://www.fanfiction.net/~piyonii) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/piyo_niiii) | [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/piyo_niiii)**


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